THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


Stonepasturea 


Stonepaetures 


BY 

ELEANOR   STUART 


NEW   YORK 

D.    APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 
1895 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


PS 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — A  CITY  WITHOUT  A   STREET         .           .  I 

II. — WEDDING  GLOOM        ....  9 

III. — THE  BLAST   RITE            .  2Q 

IV. — QUARRY  THE  SCHEMER              t  57 

V. — HOPE  AHEAD 71 

VI. — A   BAD   BARGAIN 86 

VII. — TROUBLE  ACCUMULATES     ...  99 

VIII. — QUARRY'S  ATTEMPT  AT  EXPLANATION,  in 

IX. — BREAKING  UP  A  HOME       .        .        .  120 
X. — QUARRY     RECKONS     WITHOUT     HIS 

HOSTESS 135 

XI.— THE  STRIKE 149 

XII. — THE  EYE  OF  GOD      ....  166 

EPILOGUE 175 

v 


STONEPASTURES. 


i. 

A    CITY    WITHOUT   A    STREET. 
"To  know  a  man  well  you  must  learn  his  city." 

THERE  are  three  districts  in  Soot 
City  :  By  the  Bridge,  By  the 
Tracks,  and  the  Stonepastures. 

Simeon  Quarry — who  lived  with 
the  Buttes  By  the  Tracks,  and  who 
knew  more  of  this  story  than  I  do 
— always  began  the  tale  of  his  town 
with  this  phrase,  "  As  way  back  as 
'30 " ;  for  that  was  the  year  when 
the  big  birds  sitting  on  the  big 
boulders  first  watched  the  stran- 


Stotupastrtrcs. 


gers  with  the  strings  and  water  lev 
els,  and  heard  the  strangers'  words. 

There  abode  in  the  wilderness 
of  those  days — for  everything  was 
Stonepastures  then — a  Methodist 
preacher  with  a  taste  for  the  scrip- 
turally  obscure.  His  circuit  in 
cluded  the  site  of  Soot  City,  to 
which  place  he  gave  the  name  of 
Padan-Aram,  which  endures  as  the 
county  name  until  to-day. 

Among  the  strange  words  the 
birds  heard  were  "  ile,"  "  iron,"  and 
"  smelt-oven."  These  sounds  were 
each  an  "  open  sesame "  to  hordes 
of  foreign  workers,  with  a  propor 
tion  of  native  Americans  generalled 
by  Jo  Bentley — grandfather  of  the 
Bentley  whose  plant  is  still  the  first 
in  Soot  City. 


ils  without  a  Street. 


In  a  single  lustre  there  sprang 
from  the  arid  strip  of  country  con 
fined  with  treeless  hills  —  "  Baldhead 
Rangers"  and  "Cleanshorns"  —  rows 
on  rows  of  mean  houses,  containing 
men  and  women  every  year  lessen 
ing  their  acquaintance  with  the 
world  without.  Soot  City  was  their 
cradle,  the  arena  of  their  endeavour, 
their  deathbed,  and  their  sepulchre. 

By  the  Bridge  dwelt  foreman, 
bookkeepers,  furnace  masters,  to 
gether  with  the  Bentleys'  outdoor 
servants  —  for  they  had  a  great  place 
now.  The  son  had  rowed  in  the 
Cambridge  boat,  the  daughters  had 
become  Episcopalians  and  gave 
great  house  parties,  and  the  people 
By  the  Bridge  who  knew  them  best 
were  the  lawyer,  the  doctor,  the 


baker,  and  the  undertaker,  who 
conspired  against  the  rest  of  hu 
manity  as  occasion  permitted. 

Soot  City  has  no  street.  In 
stead,  it  has  narrow-gauge  tracks, 
along  which  the  workmen  go  forth 
to  and  return  from  labour  in  the 
empty  ore  cars.  The  houses  By 
the  Tracks  are  ranged  on  either 
side  of  them,  and  are  inhabited  by 
mechanics,  iron  workers,  truckmen, 
freight  handlers,  and  preachers  of 
minor  denominations. 

Beyond  the  bridge  are  the  Stone- 
pastures,  and  beyond  these  the  ore 
bed,  the  smelting  place,  and  the 
nutt  and  bolt  factory.  The  bridge 
straddles  the  tracks  so  that  the 
highroad  may  traverse  the  town, 
and  the  narrow  gauge  runs  from 


31  (Kits  witljottt  a  Street.          5 

the  gate  of  Bentley's  Place  to  the 
ore  bed  under  the  bridge  and  over 
the  Stonepastures.  The  tracks  are 
only  four  miles  long,  joining  the 
main  line  at  the  furnaces. 

No  townsman  ever  looked  at  the 
sunset,  because  it  went  down  on  the 
Stonepastures.  Every  ones  sun 
set  was  "  over  there "  ;  and  in  the 
mean  hovels  that  stood  out  sharply 
to  the  town  gaze  in  an  evening's 
afterglow  dwelt  men  who  had  the 
white-lead  poison  in  their  hands,  or 
who  had  been  scorched  in  a  blast, 
or  who,  trying  to  preserve  them 
selves  in  alcohol,  had  failed. 

The  men  were  hungry  and 
chafed,  wrenching  themselves  from 
sleep  of  a  morning  to  a  dull  day, 
three  parts  thirst  to  one  of  hunger. 


The  children  went  to  school  and 
learned  to  know  their  parents' 
mistakes,  bringing  home  bitterness 
instead  of  bread.  The  mothers 
washed  rags  in  rusty  water,  prayed 
and  played  with  the  children,  or 
picked  up  scrap-iron  for  the  men 
to  sell. 

Accident  and  sudden  death  were 
about  as  frequent  as  night  and 
day.  A  squeeze  between  two  ore 
cars,  or  a  tendency  to  slumber 
on  the  tracks  after  a  "cosey  of  ar 
rack  "  at  Grigg's  drinkshop,  meant 
black  on  some  one's  door-handle. 
But  the  "  blast "  was  the  horror 
that  made  the  women  kiss  their 
men  with  the  fervour  of  the 
last  parting  when  they  went  off  to 
work  at  the  ore  bed.  The  blast 


31  €il2  without  a  Street.          7 

was  not  famous  for  respect  of 
persons.  It  rarely  killed,  but  its 
victims  were  rarely  cured.  There 
was  a  rocky  stretch  by  the  ore  bed 
which  young  Bentley  was  having 
blown  out  for  the  town  reservoir, 
and  the  new  iron  vein  backed 
against  it.  Scarcely  a  blast  had 
been  managed  without  some  one 
being  thrown  to  the  earth,  mangled 
with  jagged  stones — "  the  throw  " 
the  men  called  them.  It  might  be 
that  some  one  would  fall  with  the 
shock  and  find  himself  thereafter 
deaf  to  everything  but  the  "  dumb 
roaring,"  and  such  a  one  would  die 
of  what  the  unlettered  Methodist 
preacher  said  was  "  eternal  injuries." 
The  very  children  feared  the  blast. 
There  were,  however,  three  things 


that  Soot  City  loved :  Pay-day,  J  ari 
sen,  and  the  cinder-flare.  At  night 
they  would  pause  in  their  homeward 
way  from  drinkshop  or  chapel  or 
Jarlsen's  neat  sitting  room,  and  look 
toward  the  smelting  furnace.  And 
as  the  blaze  jumped  into  the  yawn 
ing  sky  they  would  bless  its  fierce 
ness,  and  look  at  the  houses  and 
tracks  standing  out  clearly,  saying 
along  with  their,  good-nights  and 
good-byes,  "  God's  lookin'  at  cher, 
Bill ! " 

For  they  named  the  light  from 
the  dumped  cinder  "  The  eye  of 
God." 


II. 


WEDDING    GLOOM. 

"  Death  doesn't  wait  for  a  man  to  have  his 
laugh  out." — Salt-miners'  saying, 

IT  is  hard  for  people  who  have 
never  seen  places  like  Soot  City 
to  believe  in  natures  like  Emma 
Butte's  and  August  Jarlsen's.  In 
river  cities  the  labouring  popula 
tion  may  be  augmented  daily  with 
a  load  of  tramps  and  paupers  who 
can  travel  on  the  river  about  as 
cheaply  as  their  own  feet  can  take 
them.  No  travel  is  as  cheap  as 
river  boating.  River  fares  cost 
much  less  than  shoes,  and  no 


Slonqjusttjres. 


other  cities  have  the  shifting  masses 
that  the  river  cities  get. 

This  is  not  the  nature  of  an  in 
land  town  whose  mine  or  iron 
vein  is  booming.  No  one  leaves 
it.  What  is  usual  with  one  man 
may  become  the  common  talk  of 
his  district,  if  he  be  an  influence  in 
it.  The  vice  of  a  member  of  the 
town  corporation  is  the  sorrow  of 
the  county.  The  men  have  gained 
their  livelihood  at  the  hands  of  the 
town ;  they  nurse  their  birthplace 
when  its  resource  is  threatened ; 
they  work  for  it.  Even  as  they 
live  by  it  they  die  for  it. 

In  feeling  J arisen  was  an  Ameri 
can  ;  his  ideals  were  American. 
He  went  to  church  soberly,  had  a 
bust  of  Lincoln  on  his  mantel, 


<B>lo0m. 


eschewed  labour  unions,  and  gave 
away  a  third  of  the  not  too  princely 
stipend  awarded  him  by  the  Bent- 
leys  for  his  position  of  payman. 

For  all  that,  when  the  native 
Swedes  got  very  drunk  of  an 
evening  and,  congregating  By  the 
Bridge,  swore  in  their  high,  un 
earthly  voices,  he  would  be  much 
ashamed  and  wish  and  even  urge 
them  farther.  For  he  too  was  born 
in  Sweden,  and  said  "  y  "  for  "  j  " 
even  yet,  if  the  men  hurried  him. 

His  room  was  By  the  Bridge. 
His  wont  was  to  ask  the  better  set, 
the  more  American  labourers,  to  his 
room  of  an  evening.  He  then,  like 
King  David,  charmed  them  with  a 
harp.  He  would  sit  in  front  of  the 
stove  on  a  packing-box  covered 


12  Stonepastnrea. 

with  pinkish  jute,  and  there  play 
and  sing  strange,  sweet  songs  about 
birds  and  lonely  mountains,  and 
kings'  daughters  and  sad  forests, 
and  immortality ;  for  these  are  of 
the  kinds  of  songs  that  come  from 
the  North. 

Jarlsen's  generosity  was  remark 
able  ;  for  his  countrymen  are 
money-getters  beyond  any  non- 
Semitic  people.  The  knowledge 
of  the  value  of  money  is  born  in 
them.  There  is  a  saying  at  the 
ore  beds  that  testifies  to  this :  "  A 
Swede  will  go  farther  for  a  dollar 
than  an  Irishman  will  for  a  drink." 

But  when  J  arisen  took  Emma 
Butte,  in  the  face  of  the  whole 
town,  the  men  of  his  acquaintance 
marvelled  greatly.  If  he  were  the 


tabbing  ©loom.  13 

man  whom  Soot  City  loved,  Emma 
was  the  woman  who  ruled  it.  She 
"  had  not  the  class "  that  her  lover 
had. 

Coming  into  the  city  as  a  child, 
she  had  learned  the  less  rough 
speech  of  the  town  labour  and 
taken  on  herself  the  somewhat 
milder  manners  of  the  people  she 
now  saw.  But  she  had  never  tried 
to  make  a  place  among  them ;  she 
lived  with  her  father,  plying  her  odd 
trade — she  was  a  barber — and  mak 
ing  her  oddest  pennies  in  another 
way,  as  shall  be  presently  set  forth. 

In  the  lighter  social  semblance 
of  their  town  the  Bentleys  were 
paramount.  Their  doings  came  to 
the  town  ear  somehow,  and  the 
people  followed  their  lead,  if  it 


14  Qtoncjwstnres. 

were  a  possible  thing  for  them. 
For  example,  one  of  the  clerical 
workers  By  the  Bridge  had  in 
vented  an  intrenching  tool,  a  spade, 
which  had  been  adopted  by  the 
army.  As  a  consequence,  he  was 
invited  to  eat  at  the  Bentleys' 
Place.  On  his  return  from  the 
feast  he  reported  to  his  eager  cir 
cle  that  not  only  had  the  ground- 
floor  rooms  been  filled  with  people, 
but  that  Miss  Bentley's  bedroom 
looked  like  an  intelligence  office, 
so  full  was  it  of  the  maids  of  the 
ladies  below. 

This  detail  of  magnificence  so 
possessed  the  minds  of  the  female 
portion  of  the  inventor's  acquaint 
ance  that  By  the  Tracks  was  drawn 
on  for  Abigails.  Male  escort  was 


(Bloom.  15 


frowned  down  completely.  One 
might  return  from  a  Soot  City  revel 
with  a  man,  but  to  go  with  one  — 
if  he  were  not  "  steady  company  " 
—  was  proof  positive  that  there 
was  no  quarter-dollar  wherewith  to 
hire  attendance.  Emma  was  often 
retained  as  lady-in-waiting,  and 
through  this  curiously  pretentious 
institution  met  and  obtained  Jarl- 
sen,  as  well  as  her  fees. 

Quarry  boarded  in  the  Butte 
household.  No  one  knew  why. 
He  imposed  on  them  always,  and 
made  them  uncomfortable  with  his 
odd  ways  and  bad  tongue.  His 
board  was  paid  intermittently  and 
with  recurrent  ill  will.  He  was  al 
ways  a  stranger  and  equally  an  in 
mate.  He  had  a  fashion  of  rapping 


16  Btoncpastures. 

at  Emma's  window  (her  room  was 
on  the  ground  floor)  and  complain 
ing  to  her  of  slights  imposed  on  him 
by  members  of  her  acquaintance. 

She  felt  him  to  be  the  only  man 
life  had  shown  her  whose  faults  were 
not  condoned  by  a  liking  for  her 
self: 

Every  Sunday  found  her  in  a 
leather  apron  giving  Quarry  his 
Sunday  morning's  dram  of  sweet 
ened  rum  in  his  tea,  to  keep  him 
quiet  through  shaving  hours.  He 
came  from  Ryde,  Isle  of  Wight, 
and  drank  tea  to  the  memory  of  his 
old  home,  which  had  long  since  for 
gotten  him. 

Then  Emma  would  get  to  work. 
Her  apron  was  of  red  leather 
hemmed  up  with  brass-topped 


©loom.  17 


nails.  It  had  a  pocket  lined  with 
tin,  where  her  lather  brush  was  put 
when  she  took  the  razor  from  un 
der  the  straps  on  her  left  sleeve  to 
stroke  a  labourer's  jowl.  Her  lips 
would  be  pressed  together  tightly 
then,  her  curling  hair  caught  back 
with  a  round  comb,  like  a  child's. 
When  she  lathered  she  talked  and 
laughed,  but  when  she  shaved  she 
was  silent. 

J  arisen  shaved  himself  latterly, 
and  no  one  understood  it  but 
Emma.  All  the  men  thought  she 
"had  a  fluke  and  struck  ile,  when 
she  was  just  digging  for  potatoes." 
That  she,  in  the  exercise  of  her  odd 
function,  should  have  secured  Jarl- 
sen  seemed  to  them  a  wonderful 
thing.  But  it  was  not. 


1 8  SlonejjaQlurea. 

Emma  was  a  very  good  woman, 
and  that  is  just  the  same  as  a  lady 
to  men  of  Jarlsen's.  make. 

He  had  begun  to  shave  himself 
the  day  he  felt  he  loved  his  barber. 
The  town  discovered  his  feelings 
the  very  day  he  did,  and  promptly 
prophesied  trouble.  "Jest  es  soon 
es  he  felt  like  marryin'  her  he 
should  hev  broke  her  into  shavin' 
weekdays,  an''kep'  a  clean  chin  on 
him  all  the  time,"  was  what  every 
one  said. 

Of  course,  in  the  eyes  of  her 
townspeople  Emma  put  on  airs 
also,  for  she  took  to  going  to 
church.  She  never  went  so  far  as 
to  stand  during  the  singing,  for  that 
would  have  cost  her  all  her  trade. 
No  one  stands  up  in  the  extremely 


(Sloom.  19 


unorthodox  Methodist  chapel  Soot 
City  operatives  affect,  except  those 
who  are  converted  or  those  desir 
ing  the  prayers  of  converts. 

Now,  J  arisen  stood  always  and 
was  never  criticised.  His  friends 
said  he  could  sing  better  if  he 
stood.  No  one  ever  asked  him  if 
this  were  true,  because  they  were 
sure  he  would  say  it  was  not.  Thus 
it  may  appear  that  Soot  City  was 
not  religious,  except  at  blast  rites 
and  funerals. 

Emma's  heart  grew  mellow  with 
his  singing  as  she  sat  beside  him. 
She  loved  him  dearly,  as  young 
women  do  love  the  men  who  en 
rich  their  lives  ;  there  was  a  large 
element  of  gratitude  in  what  she 
felt.  She  never  talked  as  the  others 


20 


talked  about  their  men,  for,  as  was 
said,  she  was  a  very  good  woman. 
And  so  she  got  the  name  of  be 
ing  a  lady.  The  others  hated  her, 
and  most  of  the  men  asked  her 
advice  and  acted  on  it. 

On  the  eve  of  her  wedding  she 
sat  in  her  white  pique  wedding 
dress,  listening  to  the  snarl  of  the 
country  fiddles  as  they  were  played 
for  the  dancers.  They  snarled  for 
two  reasons  :  they  were  not  good 
fiddles  and  they  were  not  well 
played. 

The  bride-elect  was  not  to  go  into 
the  dancing  room  —  erst  kitchen  and 
tonsorial  arena  —  until  Jarlsen  came 
and  led  her  thither.  He  was  a  little 
behind  his  time,  she  thought,  but 
her  serenity  remained  complete. 


21 


There  had  been  yet  no  clamour 
of  voices  and  no  clatter  of  feet, 
going  the  faster  because  so  near 
the  last  dance.  She  could  hear 
her  name  and  Jarlsen's.  One  man 
told  how  he  had  gone  to  pay  off 
the  extra  men  who  were  to  be  dis 
charged  after  the  blast  by  the  new 
vein. 

She  remembered  that  Quarry  was 
on  that  detail  as  machinist.  That 
made  her  think  it  must  have  been 
a  long  job,  for  Quarry's  voice  car 
ried  wonderfully,  and  she  did  not 
distinguish  it  among  the  others  in 
the  kitchen.  Her  mind  wandered 
to  the  consideration  of  the  capa 
bilities  of  her  shaving  apron  as  a 
cover  for  the  packing-box  her  lover 
sat  on  when  he  played.  That  sug- 


Stonepaslures. 


gested  to  her  the  probability  she 
should  never  shave  again,  and  that 
no  woman  would  dare  after  her 
marriage  to  stand  in  her  doorway 
and  say  in  venomous  admiration, 
"  How  elegant  you  shave ! "  They 
had  done  it  often  heretofore,  God 
knew. 

Her  window  was  raised  slightly, 
and  some  one  tapped  on  the  jamb. 
She  turned  her  head  at  this  usual 
intrusion.  "Come  off,  Quarry!" 
she  said  hotly. 

He  came  in  through  the  window 
and  stood  by  the  door.  "  It's  a  real 
pity  Jarlsen's  late,"  he  answered. 
His  voice  was  hard  and  nasal,  the 
most  effective  voice  for  taunts. 

"  Is  he  late  ? "  she  asked  more 
crossly. 


tOebbing  (Sioom.  23 

Quarry  laughed.  "  I  guess,"  he 
said,  "  you  knew  he  was  late  before 
it  would  have  been  quite  time  for 
him  to  come.  You  know  the  lis 
tening  heart  worries  terrible  they 
say,  and  you  ain't  got  no  call  to  be 
so  high  with  me.  You  can  hear 
them  girls  in  the  kitchen  laughin' 
at  you,  same's  I  do.  I  guess  Jarl- 
sen's  getting  tired,  may-be.  He's 
kinder  in  demand,  seein'  he's  the 
only  fellow  that's  kep'  his  com 
plexion  in  the  whole  plant." 

Emma  grew  rather  white.  "  Stop 
your  nasty  tongue ! "  she  cried  im 
peratively.  "  You're  always  lying  ! 
Your  face  is  lying  and  your  eyes 
can't  see  straight.  You  let  what 
people  do  to  me  alone,  or  you'll 
have  business  of  your  own  to  settle. 


24  Stonepastures. 

If  I  was  a  man,  and  couldn't  get  a 
respectable  girl  to  marry  me  be 
cause  I  was  a  liar  and  she  hated 
me,  I'd  let  her  alone  for  shame's 
sake,  when  she  took  up  with  a  man 
who  can  tell  the  truth." 

Her  voice  sounded  very  loud  in 
her  ears  as  she  stopped  ;  for  the 
two  fiddles  were  still,  and  there  was 
no  talking  among  the  dancers. 

Quarry  opened  the  door  as  if 
some  one  had  knocked,  and  looked 
out  His  features  acquired  a  sud 
den  prominence  as  the  colour  flew 
from  his  face.  Fear  crept  into  Em 
ma's  eyes  while  she  looked  at  him, 
shaking  with  his  shadow  on  the 
half-open  door. 

She  forgot  him  in  the  great  cry 
that  burst  from  the  other  room.  It 


(SHoom.  25 


was  a  horrified,  helpless  cry,  that 
gave  place  to  a  shocked  silence. 

She  wrenched  the  door  back  and 
stood  on  the  threshold  in  her  white, 
scant  gown  of  mechanic's  bride's 
finery.  Her  attitude  showed  faint- 
ness,  and  her  head  hung  down  for 
lack  of  courage. 

The  two  fiddlers  were  kneeling, 
with  their  tears  streaming  like  rain  ; 
they  were  Polacks,  and  knelt  in 
gratitude  for  any  excitement.  The 
other  men  were  hushed  and  stern. 

On  the  big  table  where  the  ar 
rack  punch  had  been  in  company 
with  the  less  heady  beer  there  was 
a  long,  writhing  hummock,  covered 
with  burlap. 

No  form  was  discernible,  but 
Emma  knew  at  the  first  strong 


26  Stonejwstnrjes. 

heart-beat  that  it  was  J  arisen, 
singed  and  crippled  with  a  care 
less  blast,  as  many  another  had 
been. 

The  women  wailed  at  her,  and 
the  men  tried  to  stay  her  with 
their  rusty  hands.  Yet  she  went 
forward,  pity  for  him  drawing  her, 
and  did  not  pause  until  she  looked 
him  in  the  face. 

It  was  black.  The  hair  was  gone ; 
his  teeth  were  fixed  in  the  cracked 
lower  lip,  and  the  eyes,  once  so 
wide  and  bold,  were  pinkish  seams 
beneath  the  puffed-out  temples. 

The  women  had  crowded  to  her 
back.  Their  breathing  was  heavy 
and  in  unison. 

Emma  leaned  over  him  and  said 
softly,  in  a  mother's  voice,  "  Do  you 


<S>i00m.  27 


hear  me  speak?"  She  raised  his 
head  on  her  arm,  but  it  settled  back 
on  the  table  with  a  sharp  crack.  He 
had  not  heard. 

She  scanned  him  closely.  She 
had  not  yet  the  full  sense  of  this 
man  covered  with  burlap  and  dis 
abled  ;  she  only  knew  that  it  was 
not  death.  But  now  her  lower  lip 
jerked  down  at  the  corners,  though 
her  eyes  were  dry.  The  Polack 
fiddlers  drew  each  a  long  breath  ; 
they  saw  the  crisis  of  the  scene 
approaching,  and  were  preparing  to 
bellow  loudly. 

Emma  raised  her  head.  "God's 
name,"  she  said,  "  he's  blasted  !  " 

The  women's  faces  were  curious, 
inquisitive  ;  and  Quarry  stood  at  her 
side  sobbing  like  a  Polack. 


28  Stoncjwstnres. 

The  men  who  had  lifted  the 
Swede  in  after  the  blast  raised  him 
again,  and  laid  him  on  the  bed  in 
Emma's  room. 


III. 

THE    BLAST    RITE. 

"  Sometimes  if  you  make  ready  for  bad  luck 
it  doesn't  come." 

No  one  in  Soot  City  was  sur 
prised  at  a  funeral  for  a  man  yet  in 
the  flesh.  Such  rites  were  a  custom 
in  the  terrible,  black  little  town, 
where  the  birds  flew  low  for  the 
damp  of  steam  and  the  prevalence 
of  soot  in  the  air,  and  where  any 
fine  man  who  took  life  eagerly  in 
the  morning  might  be  blasted  at 
the  noontide  snack. 

The  Scandinavian  labourers  gave 

29 


30  Stonepastnres. 

a  tone  to  all  the  customs  of  the 
town,  as  the  Polacks  gave  an  in 
tensity  to  all  its  dissipations.  The 
drink  of  expatriated  Poland  is 
crude  alcohol  and  water,  and  their 
drunkenness  is  a  restless  insanity 
that  would  be  murderous  in  a  less 
childish  people.  One  idea  that  is 
directly  referable  to  the  Swede 
minds  is  that  which  gave  rise  to 
the  blast  rites.  Their  feeling  had 
become  general  that  a  man  might 
"  get  beyond  the  blast " — that  is,  get 
over  its  scorch  and  shock — if  only 
his  friends  could  be  brought  to  be 
have  as  if  he  were  really  dead. 

Emma  was  more  than  Norse  in 
her  superstitious  observances.  She 
would  put  a  handful  of  soil  from 
her  bit  of  garden  into  her  wedding 


Blast  Kite.  31 


shoes,  just  like  any  tow-headed  bride 
in  the  Swede  quarter.  This  was 
called  "getting  the  favour  of  home." 
It  was  very  solemn,  and  often  fol 
lowed  by  hysterics. 

But  the  circumstances  of  Jarl- 
sen's  mishap  favoured  the  idea  of 
complete  death.  He  had  left  a  pa 
per  with  his  landlord,  "  Wavering 
Jim,"  providing  for  Emma  in  case 
of  "  death,  accident,  or  blast."  It 
wasn't  a  legalized  proceeding,  but 
the  ignorance  of  Soot  City  re 
spected  writing  beyond  most 
things,  and  no  one  would  dispute 
a  paper  with  names  signed  to  it. 
The  three  hundred  dollars  coming 
thus  yearly  to  Emma  would  mean 
a  great  deal  of  comfort  to  her. 

The  blast  rite  was  to  be  at  Em- 


32  6tonepa0tures. 

ma's  house,  as  Jarlsen's  body  was  as 
much  an  essential  to  it  as  if  there 
could  have  been  a  sequent  inter 
ment.  The  men  came  in  and  out 
a  good  deal  and  whispered  as  to 
how  to  tell  Emma  of  her  legacy, 
for  every  one  felt  it  would  be  un 
becoming  to  force  the  news  on  her. 
The  way  in  which  they  broke  it  to 
her  would  have  been  tactful  even 
for  gentlemen. 

Wavering  Jim  came  down  the 
tracks  in  an  ore  car  that  sided  by 
the  Buttes's  gate  every  night.  He 
didn't  get  out  of  it,  but  waved  his 
hand  to  her.  Emma  guessed  that 
he  wanted  to  say  something  in  pri 
vate,  and  went  to  the  gate  to  hear 
it.  "Well,"  he  said,  "the  weather 
ain't  stopped  bein'  fine,  cert'in'y." 


®l)e  Blast  Hite.  33 

Emma  knew  it  must  be  some 
thing  very  important  to  call  for  a 
preamble  as  ornate  as  this  remark 
about  the  weather. 

Jim  paused  and  looked  about 
him.  "  Quarry  ain't  in,"  said  Emma 
instinctively.  "  Emma,"  he  said, 
"  I'm  stone  sure  you're  frettin' 
yourself  into  a  terrible  chafe  'bout 
gettin*  Mr.  J  arisen  proper  ac 
commodations,  regardin'  soup,  soft 
victual,  and  invalid's  board  gen 
erally." 

The  girl's  eyes  bulged  with  appre 
hension.  "  We  don't  want  no  sub 
scription  papers  for  us,  and  if  Miss 
Bentley  sends  her  soup  here  I'll 
water  the  flowers  with  it.  We  ain't 
no  Stonepasture  poverty  yet,  to 
drink  the  dishwater  outer  By  the 


34  Btonepastnres. 

Bridge  kitchen.  He  can't  eat 
nothing  but  what  I  get  and 
cook." 

"  Now  jest  dry  up,  Emma  Butte," 
said  Jim  very  gently;  "old  sheep 
Bentley  with  her  soup  and  her 
weepin'  ain't  goin'  to  come  soothin' 
and  scratchin'  'round  this  yard.  Jarl- 
sen  left  a  little  paper  with  me  that 
fixes  that.  All  that  you've  got  to 
do  is  to  practise  your  signature  on 
his  papers  in  the  presence  of  a  few 
old  friends.  He  grabbed  consider 
able  'fore  he  was  taken,"  said  Jim 
sympathetically.  Leaving  the  car, 
he  walked  nimbly  down  tracks.  No 
one  understands  the  Godsend  news 
is,  in  a  labouring  community.  Jim 
felt  elated  that  he  had  lodged  a  man 
who  had  money  to  look  after.  This 


Blast  flite.  35 


vicarious  business  transaction  was 
the  biggest  in  his  life. 

Then  the  undertaker  called  that 
evening.  He  made  the  same  an 
nouncement.  Small  and  sympa 
thetic,  he  threw  a  cheerfulness  into 
all  his  sombre  doings.  He  was  a 
rarely  lovely  man,  and  had  as  little 
jealousy  as  a  sleeping  child.  He 
attended  blast  rites  where  he  never 
made  a  penny,  as  faithfully  as  he  did 
funerals  whereby  he  supported  him 
self  and  his  friends. 

His  family  were  four  striped  cats. 

He  was  extremely  fond  of 
prayers  and  hymns,  and,  conse 
quently,  women.  The  men  never 
guessed  it  of  him.  They  knew 
that  he  would  lend  money,  but 
had  not  yet  discovered  that,  had 


36  Stone  pastures. 

they  been  able  to  repeat  a  sacred 
stanza,  they  need  not  have  repaid 
him. 

Emma's  heart  beat  fast  with  grat 
itude  when  Jeremy  Black  kissed 
her.  She  felt  all  along  that  one 
of  the  women  might  have  done 
so,  and  it  added  to  her  uneasiness 
about  Quarry's  visiting,  for  he  would 
look  at  her  and  smile,  and  then  wag 
his  shaggy  head,  as  he  had  always 
done  when  he  had  been  about  the 
Tracks  telling  lies. 

She  held  little,  black-coated  Jerry 
very  close  to  her,  as  disappointed 
children  hug  the  family  cat  or  dog. 
The  day  before  she  had  gone  in  to 
kiss  J arisen,  but  his  poor  face  was 
sore  with  scorch  and  his  side  was 
bruised  from  where  the  blast  threw 


®t)e  Sictst  Rite.  37 

him.  So  she  had  spread  her  long 
ing  hands  over  him  in  realization 
that  the  women  wouldn't  love  the 
barber  and  that  her  man  couldn't 
see  her  sorrow. 

Jeremy  was    immensely  pleased 

with  her.      He   came   soon  to  the 

% 

subject  of  the  blast  rite,  and  ar 
ranged  it  in  his  deprecating  way, 
holding  his  barber's  brown  hand 
against  his  side  and  calling  her 
Jarlsen's  love  names,  but  in  a  safe, 
motherly  voice  that  made  Emma 
sure  she  need  not  fear  the  women 
even  if  they  saw  her  with  him. 
"  Now,  Emma,  you  can't  get  a  reg 
ular  preacher  to  pray  over  anything 
but  a  sure  and  cold  corpse,  so  we'll 
get  Quarry  to  say  the  sermon,  al- 
ludin'  to  past  virtues  and  the  fu- 


38  Stonepastutts. 

ture  crown.  It'll  make  things  right 
with  Quarry,  who  ain't  the  Tracks' 
darling  just  exactly,  and  I'll  take 
the  prayers  myself.  Then  the  Po- 
lacks  will  riddle  and  I'll  sing  '  The 
land  beyond  the  sky '  and  '  Peace 
comes  after  pain ' — that's  a  nice 
song,  perfectly  novel,  with  three 
acts  and  a  chorus.  I  won't  let  on 
it  has  a  chorus,  for  them  Polacks  is 
so  insaturated  with  alcohol  they 
might  get  things  noisy." 

"  But  do  speak  good  and  loud," 
said  Emma,  "for  August  might 
hear  something  to  please  him." 

"That's  right,"  said  Jerry,  "don't 
you  lose  your  grit.  You  kin  never 
tell  how  far  a  man  will  get  beyond 
the  blast  with  good  nursing." 

Every  one  knew  that  Jarlsen  was 


®l)e  Blast  ftite.  39 

stone-deaf  since  the  blast,  and  Em 
ma  spoke  of  his  hearing  the — in 
one  sense — post-mortem  eulogies 
from  a  desire  to  combat  the  idea. 
Perhaps  Jeremy  feared  she  might 
appeal  to  him  for  encouragement 
on  this  point,  for  he  hurried  on  to 
the  next. 

"  Since  the  beloved  lips  is  silent, 
I  expect  I'm  the  first  singer  in  the 
city.  He  had  a  way  of  doing  gar 
gles  on  the  upper  notes  that  would 
beat  a  seraph  singing.  But  I'm 
goin'  to  organize  as  notional  a  rite 
as  I  can,  bringing  forty  years  of  ex 
perience,  man  and  boy,  to  bear  on 
this  one  sad  occasion.  It'll  be  the 
blasted  best  blast  rite  ever  you  saw. 
It's  queer  they  can't  cover  them 
blasts  or  get  the  men  off  in  time, 


4°  Stoncpflstures. 

or  so's  they  won't  touch  the  torch 
to  it  before  the  word's  given  !  I've 
had  some  corpses  in  two  years 
from  blasts,  and  all  jest  es  ragged 
and  singed  es  could  be,  let  alone 
the  blasts  that's  lying  deaf  and 
blind  round  the  city  yet ! " 

The  day  of  the  mock-death  serv 
ice  dawned  clear  and  bright,  which 
was  held  to  be  bad  by  the  weather- 
weird-wise,  as  the  Scotch  among 
them  said.  Quarry  had  rum  in  his 
tea  as  early  as  6  A.  M.  He  was 
always  up  early  on  rum  days,  but 
he  beat  his  own  precedent  this 
morning. 

He  insisted  upon  setting  the 
house  in  readiness.  He  had  formed 
a  habit  of  talking  to  himself  since 
he  had  grown  fearful  of  committing 


Siaat  Bite.  41 


himself  with  talking  to  the  other 
men,  for  Quarry  had  many  things 
to  hide,  and  knew  his  limitations 
as  regarded  discretion.  His  main 
thought  was  that  he  would  rather 
spend  money  on  what  was  only  an 
approach  to  Jarlsen's  corpse  than 
hoard  it.  Besides  that,  he  had  the 
cosy  consciousness  that  it  had 
looked  friendly  when  he  and  Em 
ma  had  issued  together  from  her 
room  on  the  night  when  J  arisen 
came  singed  to  his  wedding  dance. 
"  The  greatest  thing  happened  me 
since  my  first  drink,"  he  kept  saying 
like  a  refrain,  as  he  cut  long  festoons 
of  coloured  paper  to  hang  about  the 
mantel  and  the  thinly  gilt  picture 
frames.  He  went  By  the  Bridge 
to  Jarlsen's  old  room,  which  was 


42  Stonqwstures. 

still  in  some  confusion,  with  his 
working  clothes  tossed  aside  by 
Wavering  Jim.  Jarlsen  had  folded 
them  neatly  when  he  had  donned  his 
wedding  suit  to  go  pay  off  the  men. 
It  was  Jarlsen's  portrait  in  crayon 
that  Quarry  had  come  for.  He  tied 
it  up  with  a  lank  bow-knot  of  cheap 
cr$pe,  and  laughed  in  real  mirth. 

"  Now,  Jarlsen,"  he  said  in  banter, 
"  I  do  seem  to  see  myself  somehow 
in  the  glass  over  your  portrait. 
Funny,  ain't  it  ?  " 

By  the  Bridge  he  purchased  five 
sticks  of  pretzels,  for  in  Soot  City 
long  sticks  are  run  by  venders 
through  these  open-work  wares. 

When  all  was  ready  at  the 
Buttes's,  he  helped  lift  the  big 
Swede  from  Emma's  cot  to  the 


(El)*  Blast  ftite.  43 

kitchen  table.  He  was  dressed,  of 
course,  in  what  was  to  have  been 
his  wedding  suit,  and  the  odd 
lengths  of  hair  that  were  left  him 
were  brushed  out  on  either  side 
of  his  head  to  make  a  good  show. 
His  beard  had  not  grown  on  one 
cheek,  and  Quarry  surveyed  him 
with  great  satisfaction.  "  Seems 
they've  kind  o'  singed  them  right- 
hand  glands  where  the  hair  starts 
out,"  he  said.  "  It's  real  hard  to 
keep  your  complexion  right  here." 
Emma  had  been  sleeping  on  a 
couple  of  ironing  boards  laid  on 
the  hard  clay  of  the  lean-to  where 
the  pans  and  scant  house-tackle 
were  kept.  The  thought  of  hard 
ship  had  not  occurred  to  her.  She 
had  saved  her  heartbroken  minutes 

4 


44 


for  the  sordid  privacy  of  the  chill 
lean-to.  The  place  had  for  her  the 
charm  of  liberty,  which,  we  are  told, 
is  the  charm  of  paradise  itself. 

Her  behaviour  was  not  very  ago 
nized.  She  crouched  on  the  blan 
keted  boards  and  courted  the  slow 
tears  that  crept  from  her  eyes  and 
were  healing  to  her  hurt.  They 
alone  relieved  her  ;  and  sometimes, 
when  they  would  not  come,  she 
would  grip  the  scant  old  skirt  that 
covered  her  and  pray  in  a  loud 
whisper,  with  the  vital  faith  of  the 
poor. 

When  she  woke  on  the  morning 
of  the  blast  rite  they  had  already 
moved  Jarlsen.  He  lay  on  the 
table,  roused,  but  baffled  by  the 
strange  dimness  in  him.  No  voices 


Blast  Bile.  45 


and  no  light  could  come  into  his 
world  except  through  memory  ;  he 
was  heir  to  a  limitless  pain  in  the 
sense  of  tyrannic  suppression  that 
possessed  him. 

Etiquette  assigned  Emma  the 
place  by  the  stove.  She  took  it  at 
once  as  the  mourners  were  gather 
ing  rapidly.  The  company  at  the 
wedding  dance  was  indistinguish 
able  in  the  crowd  of  to-day. 

There  were  many  operatives  and 
all  the  foremen  —  of  the  new  vein, 
the  nutt,  and  bolt  factory,  etc. 
These  last  had  their  clerks  in 
attendance.  Miss  Bentley  came 
among  the  first  arrivals,  bringing 
Emma  sweet  crackers  and  a  hymn- 
book. 

And  Emma  cursed  her  —  a  great, 


46  Slonqjastnres. 

ignorant,  insolent,  heartfelt  curse — 
because  she  thought  these  things 
could  console  her  ;  things  the 
Misses  Bentley  would  never  offer 
each  other  if  their  men  had  the 

blast.     But  Miss  Bentley  was  one 

\ 

more  of  those  devout  women,  not 
a  few,  who,  because  of  a  congeni 
tal  shyness,  can  not  do  a  kindness 
kindly.  Emma  would  have  given 
thanks  for  the  same  things  given 
another  way. 

The  foremen  also  brought  their 
wives,  worthy  women  with  sleek 
children,  who  consumed  many  pret 
zels  with  a  brisk  crunching  that  an 
noyed  Emma  greatly.  She  wanted 
people  to  be  sad  and  unable  to 
eat ;  to  be  upset  with  the  trouble 
that  had  faded  out  her  future 


Blast  ttite.  47 


with  one  too  vivid  moment  of 
pain. 

Quarry  sat  at  a  table  that  was 
covered  with  a  white  cloth.  Upon 
this  lay  a  Bible  and  a  bound  time 
table.  The  fitness  of  this  was  in 
the  binding,  which  was  ecclesias 
tically  purple. 

The  table  was  flanked  by  the  Po- 
lacks,  looking  wretched,  as  if  they 
had  wept  all  night  and  grieved 
since  morning  on  empty  stomachs. 
They  tuned  their  fiddles  with  writh 
ing  faces,  and  played  the  "  Land  o' 
the  Leal,"  as  the  remaining  space  in 
Emma's  kitchen  was  being  filled 
with  the  less  shy  among  the  la 
bourers.  The  others  stood  at  the 
open  windows  where  the  sunlight 
should  have  been. 


48  Stonepastttres. 

Jeremy  Black  offered  prayer,  shy 
ly  enough,  for  the  Methodist  minis 
ter  was  attending  as  a  layman.  He 
prayed  for  this  and  that,  rather  in- 
consequently,  and  with  a  red  face ; 
but  Emma  liked  it  better  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  service.  It  was 
like  her  own  prayer  of  last  night : 
"  O  Lord,  thou  knowest  what  I 
want  and  what  I  don't  want.  Please 
don't  send  me  what  I  don't  want. 
Good-night."  Even  to  God  Emma 
could  not  name  Jarlsen's  death. 

Her  father  came  in  at  the  climax 
of  Jerry's  petition.  He  shook  his 
head  at  Jarlsen's  big,  quiet  shape 
on  the  table,  and  announced  in  a 
voice  that  shook  with  emotion  that 
"  young  men  would  be  young  men." 
No  one  but  Emma  was  galled  with 


J31ast  Hite.  49 


this  needlessly  irrelevant  statement. 
In  the  less  book-learned  phases  of 
life  many  people  use  expressions 
just  because  they  admire  them,  not 
because  they  express  their  feeling, 
their  fancy,  or  a  fact.  It  is  no  more 
to  be  wondered  at  than  the  prayers 
they  make,  which  would  read  like 
telegraphic  messages  in  a  High 
Church  congregation. 

After  his  prayer  Jerry  sang.  It 
is  confessed  that  he  sang  less  for 
art  than  for  audience.  He  loved 
to  sing.  His  voice  was  thin  and 
rather  sweet  ;  his  intonation  very 
sure  and  happy.  'He  contrived  to 
infuse  a  wistfulness  into  the  most 
martial  or  condemnatory  ballads, 
types  of  song  he  particularly  af 
fected. 


5° 


There  is  always  a  good  deal  of 
preface  to  singing  like  his,  and  he 
was  not  above  throat-clearing  and 
loud  swallowing.  The  verse  he 
sang  had  been  used  at  blast  rites 
since  the  Swedes  came  first  to  Soot 
City.  Its  refrain  was  sung  softly  by 
every  one  to  an  accompaniment  of 
rocking  bodies  : 

"  Don't  fret,  old  wife,  nor  cry, 
For  God  won't  pass  you  by  ; 

He  may  come  late,  but  if  you  wait, 
You'll  get  behind  the  sky." 

Then  Quarry  rose  with  some 
pomp  and  spoke  thus  :  "  Ladies 
and  friends  :  Some  lives  is  all  chair- 
cars  and  champagne  ;  some  lives 
is  neither.  I'm  not  saying  what 
they  are,  for  this  is  no  time  to  start 
more  tears.  Some  feels  the  whip, 


&t)e  Blast  Eiic.  51 

some  wears  the  willow,  some  gets 
their  own  way.  These  last  says  the 
skimpiest  '  Glory  be  to  God ! ' 

"  This  house  is  a  house  of  mourn 
ing.  The  one  ewe  lamb  went  to  the 
pasture,  and  come  home  bit  by  the 
wolf!  Here  to-day,  there  to-mor 
row  !  Our  God  is  a  very  fearful 
thing ! " 

Quarry  was  considered  an  orator 
in  Soot  City.  He  always  spoke  at 
social  functions  and  stirred  his  audi 
ences. 

"This  man" — here  the  blackest 
Polack  snorted  like  the  report  of 
firearms,  and  every  one  at  the 
sound  burst  into  weeping — "this 
man,"  screamed  Quarry,  strengthen 
ing  his  effect,  "  was  a  good  man ! 
He  knew  ten  at  night  as  well  as 


52  0l0nqm0lmre0. 

the  town  clock.  He  was  a  Chris 
tian  gentleman,  and  done  as  well 
by  his  friends  as  he  did  by  the 
chapel,  and  what  more  can  a  man 
do?  In  passing  out,  those  that 
knowed  him  good,  or  any  of  the 
men  that  were  pretty  common 
with  him,  can  put  their  hands  on 
his  hand,  as  some  has  the  feelin' 
it's  best." 

Thereupon  Quarry  made  way  for 
himself  to  the  kitchen  table,  and 
stood  striving  against  a  triumph  so 
strong  that  it  seemed  a  physical  sen 
sation.  And  J arisen  lay  scorched, 
inert,  and  blasted. 

To  any  one  knowing  the  old 
Saxon  custom  of  touching  a  corpse 
as  a  means  of  finding  its  uncon- 
fessed  murderer  the  scene  would 


Blast  Kite.  53 


have  been  more  intense  from  the 
moment  that  the  first  hand  —  a 
woman's  —  was  laid  on  the  least 
sore  member  of  Jarlsen's  wrecked 
body. 

None  but  Miss  Bentley  knew 
that  the  custom  was  a  primitive 
habit  of  the  race.  She  alone  had 
a  vision  of  spurting  blood  as  the 
guilty  hand  touched  its  victim. 
That  vision  was  usual  to  her  at 
the  blast  rites,  and  she  felt  a 
strange  thrill  of  uncertainty  when 
she  put  her  own  innocent,  helping 
hand  on  a  blasted  labourer. 

The  greater  part  of  the  crowd 
strolled  off,  subdued,  into  the  bright 
morning.  The  rest  lingered  to  lay 
hands  on  an  old  friend. 

J  arisen,  the  man  who  had  given 


54 


his  ear  to  their  sorrows  and  lent  his 
high,  searching  voice  to  all  their 
social  joys,  was  virtually  dead  to 
them  ;  and  it  was  in  tense  silence 
that  the  heavy-footed  workmen  ap 
proached  the  table.  Then  there 
would  be  a  sobbing  sigh,  and  some 
one  would  pass  out  at  the  door. 
Few  people  can  touch  the  dead 
without  tears,  and  as  Jerry  Black 
said,  "  The  blasts  is  dead  men  with 
live  tongues." 

They  had  all  gone  ;  the  room 
grew  light  as  the  crowd  moved  from 
the  windows.  Sunlight  bathed  the 
floor  at  Emma's  feet,  and  Black 
stood  beside  her,  knowing  she 
feared  to  be  without  him  when 
J  arisen  was  deaf  to  her  and  Quarry 
spoke  his  kind  of  love  to  her,  and 


Blast  Bile.  55 


her  father  was  only  a  peevish  old 
child.  Quarry  laid  a  nervous  hand 
on  Jarlsen,  who  had  been  roused 
more  than  once  through  his  tactile 
sense  as  some  old  friend's  hand  had 
lain  for  a  moment  on  his. 

When  Quarry's  touch  fell  on  him, 
he  cried  out,  "  O  Emma,  Emma  ! 
am  I  dead,  that  I  can  not  hear  you  ? 
Is  your  voice  gone  behind  the  sky, 
that  you  hold  your  mouth  yet  ?  Is 
your  hand  cut  off  you  ?  Don't 
marry  Quarry  till  I  am  home 
again  !  Emma,  tell  me  where  you 
are.  It  is  all  black  inside  me  !  " 

Emma  leaped  to  him.  She  was 
"  swift  as  a  wicked  cat,"  Quarry 
told  her  later  on  when  he  cursed 
her. 

She  hurt  him  cruelly,  but  Jarlsen 


56 


smiled,  and  his  blackened  face  grew 
brighter.  "  I  shall  not  marry  until 
Heaven  —  "  she  vowed,  but  he  could 
not  hear.  The  pain  of  her  embrace 
was  fearful,  but  she  clung  fast,  and 
called  out  in  her  big  voice  the  loy 
alty  he  longed  for  and  that  he  felt 
in  the  suffering  her  strong  arms 
caused  him,  even  though  he  could 
not  hear. 

And  then  Jerry  touched  her. 
"  I'm  afraid  he's  fainted,"  he  said, 
as  though  he  apologized. 


IV. 

QUARRY     THE     SCHEMER. 

"  The  winged  word  of  spite  outstrips  a  kind 
ness." 

EMMA  was  too  tired  to  feel  her 
unhappiness,  and  too  relieved,  now 
that  everything  was  over,  to  feel 
her  loneliness  very  much.  The 
blast  rite  had  somehow  robbed  her 
of  her  hope  of  Jarlsen's  recovery, 
and  established  the  idea  of  his 
death  in  her  mind.  Jeremy  Black 
nursed  him  at  first,  after  her  out 
burst.  In  the  neighbours'  phrase, 
he  "  turned  and  fed  the  poor  blast." 

57 


58  Slonepaslures. 

Emma's  crude  nature  found  a 
pleasure — never  before  known  to 
her — in  food,  and  in  lying  on  the 
lean-to  floor  and  thanking  God 
that  her  barber  days  were  over. 
Her  voice  was  harsh  and  loud;  she 
had  always  hidden  it  from  J arisen. 
To-day  she  sang  and  was  not 
ashamed. 

Then  Black  went  mysteriously  to 
the  city.  This  might  mean  New 
York,  Pittsburg,  Philadelphia,  or 
some  nearer,  smaller  town  than 
either  of  these.  He  left  at  the  be 
ginning  of  the  drought,  and  Emma, 
with  the  rest  of  his  townspeople, 
envied  him  sorely.  Her  resumed 
service  to  Jarlsen  was  automatic. 
He  spoke,  but  she  did  not  listen ; 
she  was  afraid  of  being  hurt  if  she 


tfye  Schemer.  59 


heard  his  words.  The  drought 
made  her  double  work,  for  her  pa 
tient  drank  a  great  deal  of  water, 
and  refused  it  with  a  wearied  pa 
tience  if  it  were  not  cold.  She 
often  went  at  noon  to  the  Bridge 
well,  her  tin  dipper  growing  burn 
ing  hot  beneath  a  sun  that  made 
the  mica  specks  shine  in  the  road 
side  dust.  She  lagged  heavily  down 
the  hill,  the  people  greeting  her  and 
she  answering  without  knowledge 
of  what  they  said.  She  had  learned 
that  forgetfulness  is  the  better  part 
of  wisdom. 

She  could  not  ignore  Quarry  ; 
he  was  merciless.  On  Sunday  she 
went  at  six  for  Jarlsen's  drink 
from  the  well.  She  had  a  hand 
ful  of  oatmeal  to  put  in  it  ;  and, 

5 


60  Sttmepastttres. 

as  she  leaned  over  and  caught  the 
dripping  bucket,  she  heard  Quarry's 
voice  in  the  alder  thicket  that  smelt 
sweet  with  the  heavy  dew  on  it. 

"  She's  a  real  good  girl,  and  I 
can't  help  but  feel,  ef  she  could 
let  me  at  her  wedding  dance,  set 
alone  with  her  waitin'  till  Jarlsen 
come,  that  I  owe  it  to  her  to  marry 
her,  and  I  think  when  she's  worn 
out  her  mourning  thet  she'd  be 
agreeable.  He  was  a  queer  fellow ; 
hed  them  fancy  virtues  thet  pre 
vents  a  man  from  making  a  good 
husband  jest  as  sure  as  his  havin' 
the  vices  would.  He  give  his 
money  to  lame-legged  and  blind- 
eyed,  and  thet's  keepin'  it  from 
wifie  jest  es  much  es  if  he  give 
it  up  for  drink." 


the  Schemer.  61 


A  woman's  voice  answered  him 
in  full  assent  :  "  You'll  not  be  the 
only  one  to  marry  her,  though  ; 
she's  got  money  now,  and  a  rare 
head  for  livin'  straight." 

Emma  had  not  seen  the  woman, 
but  guessed  it  must  be  one  of  those 
who  "  wrought  "  in  the  offices  of  the 
plant,  writing,  or  sorting  the  mass  of 
mail.  Excepting  herself  Quarry 
rarely  spoke  to  any  one  of  less  class 
among  the  women. 

She  was  very  angry,  and  could  see 
how  Quarry  had  used  it  all  in  his 
talk  ;  all  the  circumstances  of  her 
courtship  he  could  twist  into  evi 
dence  that  she  had  loved  nothing 
of  Jarlsen  but  what  he  had  left  her. 
She  could  hear  the  woman's  opinion 
that  her  conduct  was  not  quite  right, 


62  •      Stonepasturcs. 

uttered  in  the  dry  tone  she  used 
when  speaking  of  her  straight  life. 

She  said  to  herself  just  as  fiercely 
as  ever  that  Quarry  was  a  liar,  but 
she  felt  that  happiness  had  given 
her  the  power  to  fight  him,  and 
now  her  happiness  was  gone.  She 
remembered  with  a  dim  horror 
that  Quarry  had  resumed  a  prac 
tice,  since  Jarlsen's  mishap,  that  she 
hoped  her  engagement  had  ended. 
Up  to  the  day  that  they  had  spoken 
of  their  marriage  publicly,  Quarry 
would  take  things  into  his  hands 
that  Emma  had  lately  touched  and 
fondle  them.  He  had  done  so 
again  the  day  of  the  blast  rite,  she 
remembered. 

She  had  intended  to  revel  in  her 
grief  at  chapel  that  morning,  and 


tl)e  Schemer.  63 


Quarry  had  divined  her  intention. 
She  meant  to  stand  in  the  singing, 
as  Jarlsen  had  stood,  and  sob  when 
the  preacher  shivered  and  scowled 
and  beat  the  reading-desk  with  his 
fists.  She  would  not  go  now.  She 
felt  that  no  one  would  believe  that 
she  mourned  for  him  if  Quarry  had 
been  talking  about  her  very  much 
in  the  way  she  had  heard.  She 
burned  to  speak  with  him  of  the 
traitor's  part  he  had  played. 

It  was  as  usual  in  Soot  City  as 
in  other  places  for  folks  to  bethink 
themselves  of  the  church  when 
trouble  thwarts  them  ;  and  so  every 
one  went  to  church  expecting  Em 
ma.  And  Quarry's  tongue  was  not 
quite  long  enough  to  have  reached 
the  general  ear  in  so  short  a  time. 


64  Slonepastnrca. 

The  congregation  was  very  large, 
and  the  flattered  minister  observed 
Emma's  absence  with  satisfaction. 
He  never  thought  that  his  hearers 
could  have  been  ignorant  of  her 
intention  to  stay  at  home,  and 
supposed  that  in  the  sudden  calam 
ity  come  upon  the  town  they  had 
found  a  warning  anent  churchless 
ways.  He  announced  an  extra 
service  at  three  in  the  afternoon, 
and  the  only  person  who  answered 
it  was  Jeremy  Black's  foreman,  who 
came  to  protest. 

After  service  Quarry  went  straight 
to  Emma's  room.  He  could  not  ac 
count  for  her  absence  ;  he  had  in 
tended  to  sit  with  her  in  the  front 
pew  while  she  stood  in  the  singing. 
He  expected  to  colour  his  stories 


tfye  Schemer.  65 


with  her  behaviour  and  satisfy  every 
one  that  she  had  loved  the  money 
J  arisen  left  her  the  best  of  all  his 
attentions. 

She  was  sitting  with  her  charge, 
who  lay  with  his  face  turned  away 
from  the  sun  —  blind,  maimed,  deaf 
—  yet  as  conscious  of  Quarry's  pres 
ence  as  when  last  week  he  had 
turned  to  him  with  lazy  scorn  and 
a  short  word. 

"  Emma,"  said  Quarry. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 
She  had  been  wondering  if  he 
could  have  been  telling  about  the 
money  everywhere  and  "  setting  the 
men  on  her." 

Quarry  looked  at  her  and  at  Jarl- 
sen  with  a  twist  in  his  mouth  that 
he  thought  of  as  "  his  smile."  He 


66 


realized  that  he  could  insult  Emma 
thoroughly  in  the  presence  of  a  Soot 
citizen  who  could  not  stir  to  pro 
tect  her. 

"  The  women  think  you  might  as 
well  marry,"  he  said.  "  You've  got 
the  fixin's,  and  if  you  take  me 
you've  got  the  husband.  The 
whole  place  expects  a  wedding 
off  you.  You've  got  the  extra 
money  to  care  for  your  friend 
here." 

"  I'd  rather  give  up  the  money 
than  take  you  ;  besides,"  she  said 
spitefully,  "there's  better  men  nor 
you  in  the  town  that  knows  I  have 
money  for  my  man.  You  ain't  no 
kind  to  love  me  after  what  I've  had, 
and  I  don't  want  you  should  make 
my  love  for  this  one  shabby,  talkin' 


(dnurrji  ttye  Schemer.  67 

it  over  all  the  time.  You  can  get 
out,"  she  said  very  quietly. 

Quarry  went  ;  and,  as  he  said 
himself,  his  heart  was  sour. 

Then  Emma  stayed  at  J arisen 's 
side  and  prayed  in  the  hot  after 
noon  silence,  and  wondered  why 
God  didn't  do  something  worth 
while — that  is  how  she  thought  it. 
But  she  never  doubted  Him  nor  the 
fate  that  He  ordained,  but  rocked 
in  her  only  rocking-chair  and  kissed 
her  helpless  lover  boldly,  longing 
for  a  woman's  touch  as  a  sick  child 
longs  for  its  mother. 

When  J  arisen  spoke  her  name 
she  trembled  with  love  of  him  ;  she 
was  awake  now  and  filled  with  pity. 
She  did  not  answer,  but,  like  a  child, 
prayed  God  to  tell  J  arisen  she  heard 


68 


him  call,  and  then  slept  till  the  cool 
ness  of  dusk  awoke  her.  J  arisen 
slept  a  little  while  too,  and  told  her 
he  had  talked  with  her  in  dreams. 

She  got  the  supper,  talking 
within  herself.  "  I  can  feel  things 
mend,"  she  said.  "  Every  one  will 
come  out  right,  and  my  big  man 
will  live  again  and  lick  that  terrible 
scant  Christian,  Quarry  !  " 

She  ate  her  supper  opposite  her 
silent  old  father.  It  was  quite  late  ; 
they  had  candles  and  a  lamp,  which 
was  only  an  extravagance  for  court- 
ing-time  in  the  sordid  social  usage 
of  Soot  City. 

Emma  had  not  thought  of  this 
till  Ben  Bowa,  the  youngest  fore 
man,  stood  in  the  narrow  doorway. 

"  I  didn't  know  to  come  in  till  I 


ttye  Schemer.  69 


saw  lights  making  the  shine,"  he 
explained  in  Swedes'  English.  And 
then  many  more  came  in,  and  the 
kitchen  was  full.  J  arisen  cried  for 
water  from  the  next  room,  and  be 
fore  Emma  could  get  to  her  feet 
Quarry  had  gone  to  him. 

"  How  can  I  show  them  I  don't 
want  one  of  them  ?  "  she  thought. 
There  was  no  word  of  Jarlsen,  and 
everything  went  on  as  it  had  when 
the  one  or  two  men  courted  her  be 
fore  Jarlsen  took  her. 

Bowa  cut  profiles  out  of  paper 
and  asked  whose  they  were,  and  the 
other  men  performed  their  trifling 
social  accomplishments.  They  were 
endeavouring  to  "  raise  a  laugh  "  ; 
none  came. 

Late  at  night  a  wakeful  neigh- 


7°  Stone|jaslure0. 

hour  heard  Emma's  door  close,  and 
later  God  heard  her  sobbing.  "  That 
Quarry's  done  me ! "  was  what  she 
said. 

And  through  the  night  her  eyes 
burned,  and  she  felt  that  the  dark 
ness  fell  like  a  weight  on  them. 
She  longed  even  for  Miss  Bentley 
or  the  Polack  girls'  overdressed 
Madonnas. 


V. 

HOPE    AHEAD. 

"  Only  the  saints  and  the  feeble-minded  suffer 
gladly." 

EMMA  tossed  restlessly  that  night. 
Once  the  cinder  flare  leaped  upon 
her  walls,  staining  them  with  a  flick 
ering  orange  glow.  This  incident 
emphasized  to  her  mind  the  horrid 
blackness  that  had  lately  fastened 
on  their  household. 

She  awoke  very  early  next  morn 
ing  in  the  final,  nervous  way  that 
worried  people  dread,  and  sat  hud 
dled  on  the  floor  of  the  lean-to  in 

71 


72  Stonqmstitrcs. 

the  still,  sunless  cold.  Jarlsen's  loud 
talk  echoed  in  the  empty  kitchen, 
but  she  knew  she  could  not  wake 
him  with  her  voice.  The  thought 
recurred  to  her  with  all  the  force  of 
discovery  that,  waking  or  sleeping, 
the  voices  of  this  world  were  dead 
to  him. 

Black  would  return  to-day.  It 
was  odd  to  call  this  hour  to-day. 
The  noontide  that  would  bring 
Black  again  to  Soot  City  seemed 
very  different  from  any  dim  time  of 
loud  agonies  like  that  which  makes 
the  dawns  of  the  sore-hearted. 

To-day  she  would  also  be  paid 
the  "  blast  money,"  part  accident  in 
surance  and  part  Jarlsen's  savings. 
The  anticipation  of  this  pleased  her 
until  she  moved  into  the  disordered 


73 


kitchen  and  saw  the  chairs  as  Bowa 
and  the  others  had  left  them,  and 
smelt  the  lamp  that  was  a  survival 
.  of  the  courting  days  she  had  prized. 
Then  she  groaned. 

For  a  moment  the  idea  of  bring 
ing  out  the  leather  barber's  apron 
and  the  keen  razors,  as  a  tacit  con 
tradiction  to  any  report  of  her 
wealth,  seemed  a  clear  inspiration. 
But  with  Quarry  and  Wavering 
Jim  to  talk,  she  knew  all  delicate 
denial  to  be  useless. 

She  opened  the  house  and  sat 
along  the  narrow  door-sill,  her  back 
to  one  jamb,  her  knees  drawn  up 
and  fixed  against  the  other.  As 
the  sun  came  up,  the  cinder  flare 
crept  in  a  stealthy  flush  along 
the  earth  and  lost  its  power  in 


74 


the  heavens  as  the  day  grew 
bright. 

At  last  the  cold  stung  her  hands, 
and  the  sun  chased  the  shivers 
down  her  back,  so  that  she  went 
again  into  the  house,  forgetting 
that  an  hour  since  she  had  loathed 
it.  Quarry  was  with  Jarlsen,  who 
clamoured  on,  asking  questions 
whose  answers  he  could  not  hear. 

He  was  learning  his  deafness  by 
degrees,  for  his  fits  of  silence  were 
longer,  but  with  Quarry  he  talked 
always.  Quarry's  touch  was  abom 
inable  to  the  Swede,  and  his  pres 
ence  pricked  to  the  quick  a  soul 
whose  every  other  approach  was 
blockaded. 

Emma,  in  pity,  took  up  the  jug 
of  sweet  oil  to  bathe  the  burns. 


75 


Her  hand  was  light  from  shaving, 
and  it  had  learned  a  wonderful  cau 
tion  from  the  teachings  of  pain. 
She  could  mitigate  its  brown 
strength  with  a  suddenness  like 
the  swift  softnesses  of  Jarlsen's  old- 
time  singing,  and  he  would  smile  at 
her  as  she  used  to  smile  at  his  own 
skilled  tunefulness.  She  almost 
stroked  the  scorches  with  her  wise, 
soothing  hands. 

She  had  meant  to  spend  the 
morning  on  the  doorsill,  in  the 
hope  that  a  passing  woman  might 
be  kind  and  glance  her  way.  She 
longed  so  for  a  woman's  friendship  ! 
She  was  sure  that  half  the  sting  of 
her  sorrow  would  vanish  with  re 
cital. 

At  the  last  accident,  when  they 

6 


76  Stonepastnres. 

brought  home  Jerry  Black's  half- 
sister's  husband  from  a  squeeze  be 
tween  the  ore  cars ;  as  soon  as  every 
one  had  made  quite  sure  he  was 
dead,  Martha  Long — herself  a  per 
sonage  even  in  the  presence  of  a 
newly  made  widow — caught  Jerry's 
sister  in  her  arms  and  rocked  to 
and  fro  with  her  standing,  until 
both  women  fell  on  the  plush  sofa. 

Such  scenes  dignify  sorrow  in 
one  type  of  the  common  mind. 

Emma  knew  that  Quarry  had 
lied  about  her,  and  through  the 
day  she  wondered  what  the  lie 
might  have  been.  The  absence  of 
feminine  condolers  worried  her,  and 
added  to  her  dread  of  the  time 
when  the  hands  of  the  clock 
should  reach  half  past  one.  That 


77 


was  the  hour  of  Jarlsen's  leave- 
taking  on  the  day  before  that  set 
for  their  wedding.  As  the  time 
approached  the  ticking  of  the  clock 
seemed  louder,  and  she  went  into 
the  lean-to  to  escape  from  it.  She 
lay  there,  covered  over  and  quiet  as 
though  night  had  come. 

The  latch  rattled,  and  Martha 
Long,  with  her  thin  face  and  burn 
ing  eyes,  stood  in  the  lean-to  door 
way  with  her  baby's  half-knit  hood 
in  her  fingers.  She  cast  a  glance  of 
piercing  inquiry  at  Emma,  and  her 
emphasis  was  not  conciliatory. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "God  has 
strange  ways  with  the  righteous. 
You've  had  your  troubles,  poor 
girl!" 

"  I  don't  see  there's  need  for  that 


78 


kind  o'  talk,"  said  Emma  vaguely  ; 
"  them  as  gives  it  ain't  had  over 
much,  I  guess  !  " 

"Well,  no  offence,"  said  Martha, 
overbearingly  ;  "  how  is  he  ?  " 

"  Making  out  —  no  more.  He 
ain't  got  a  piece  of  skin  on  him 
that  don't  appear  to  be  fried,  and 
he  talks  till  your  heart  splits  in 
your  body." 

"  It's  a  good  sign  if  he's  rebel 
lious.  My  brother  was  fearful  meek. 
He  could  hear  a  little,  and  the 
whole  town  had  hopes,  when  one 
morning  he  turned  his  head  in  to 
the  wall,  and  he  says  to  poor  Jarl- 
sen,  who  was  tending  him,  '  You 
give  that  oatmeal  and  water  where 
it's  wanted,'  he  says  ;  '  you  can 
give  me  a  pleasure  drink  for  the 


79 


last  I  get.'  He  didn't  drink  much 
ever,  and  Jarlsen  give  him  a  drop 
of  something,  and  then  he  lay  still 
and  was  dumb  dead  before  your 
poor  feller  could  rinch  the  glass. 
So  it  goes!"  Martha  ended  dis 
mally. 

Emma  did  not  find  this  quite 
satisfactory,  so  she  said  nothing. 

"  And  there  is  something  you 
have  to  be  thankful  for,"  said 
Martha  further,  forgetting  that 
nothing  causes  man  to  hate  his 
lot  like  telling  him  to  be  thankful 
for  it ;  "  you've  got  a  good  man  to 
fall  back  on.  That  Quarry's  more 
to  you  in  most  ways  nor  your  born 
mother  would  be.  Yesterday  he 
was  saying  as  how  risky  it  was  to 
marry  where  the  language  was  dif- 


8o 


ferent.  Two  tongues  like  that  in 
a  house  means  secrets." 

Emma  had  started  up.  "  That 
Quarry  says  more  than  his  prayers," 
she  cried  out  fiercely  ;  "  I  knew  he'd 
been  lyin'  'round  about  me.  I  don't 
hold  by  his  ways  ;  and  I'm  goin'  to 
stick  by  that  husk  of  a  husband  in 
there,  ef  he  don't  get  better  till  the 
day  I  die.  He  ain't  talked  kind 
about  me,  and  worse  talk  is  due,  I 
know,  but  I'll  bide  my  rights,  and 
have  'em." 

Martha  felt  admiration.  Emma 
was  not  as  Quarry  had  reported 
her.  She  recited  a  few  more  "  inci 
dents,"  and  strolled,  without  leave- 
making  and  still  knitting,  toward 
the  door.  "  Come  in  some  night 
when  you're  lonesome,"  was  all  she 


81 


had  left  in  her  heart  of  the  invita 
tion  she  had  meant  to  give  the  girl 
in  Bovva's  interest.  It  was  plain  to 
her  woman's  eye  that  Emma  loved 
J  arisen  maimed  better  than  a  town 
full  of  men  of  sound  members. 

She  wondered,  however,  why  the 
girl  hadn't  the  sense  to  take  Quar 
ry,  who  was  getting  in  with  the  fac 
tory  hands  like  water  through  a 
leak. 

Black  came  in  a  moment  after 
Martha's  departure.  He  had  a 
wallet  in  his  hand,  and  his  face 
was  clothed  in  a  bright  kindliness 
that  turned  Emma's  heart  toward 
him. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  had  lady's  com 
pany,"  he  said. 

"  You're  looking  daft,  dear,"  Em- 


82 


ma  answered,  when  she  had  studied 
him. 

Suddenly  the  little  fellow  spread 
his  hands.  "  Last  night,"  he  said, 
"  I  went  to  heaven  cheap  —  fifty 
cents  entrance  fee.  I  heard  a  man 
play  on  a  fiddle  ;  well,  if  the 
sweetest  voice  in  heaven  sang  its 
best  it  couldn't  learn  that  feller 
much.  I  sat  there  and  just  pined 
away  to  hear  the  back  door  shut, 
or  some  other  shabby  kind  of 
sound,  just  to  show  it  was  really  I 
situated  in  the  concert  hall.  But 
that's  not  this,"  he  concluded,  put 
ting  his  hand  on  the  wallet  ;  "  here's 
your  due." 

Jerry  held  it  out  to  her.  His 
face  was  red,  and  he  made  visible 
efforts  to  control  its  expression, 


83 


which  changed  from  conscious  di 
plomacy  to  kindly  eagerness. 

"  I  seen  a  doctor  in  the  town,  a 
professor  of  blasts,  kind  of.  He 
knows  the  ins  and  outs  and  con- 
binizations  of  paralysis  pretty  pat, 
and  I  told  him  I  had  a  good 
friend  laid  up  in  a  blast,  and  he 
said  he'd  charge  maybe  a  hundred 
or  maybe  fifty  dollars  to  come 
up  on  purpose  to  see  him.  So 
that's  your  best  way  of  layin'  out 
his  money,  Emma." 

"  I  was  thinkin'  that  would  be 
good  myself,"  Emma  answered  with 
a  quiver  of  gratitude  on  her  lips. 

"And  I'm  obliged  to  say  that 
you  could  offer  a  little  to  Quarry, 
just  to  keep  his  tongue  sweet. 
He's  got  a  fearful  gainin'  way  with 


84 


his  mouth,  and  them  nutt  and  bolt 
hands  will  pick  up  and  listen  to  all 
he  has  to  say.  They've  been  in 
schools,  and  are  crazy  for  talkin' 
and  politics.  The  kind  of  foolish 
ness  men  gets  from  schools  is  the 
worst  kind." 

Jerry  was  angry. 

"Ain't  he  been  talkin'  on  me, 
maybe  ?  "  Emma  asked. 

"  Perhaps  so,  perhaps  no.  He's 
so  mean  you  could  buy  him  for  a 
small  price.  He  ain't  much  of  a 
luxury." 

As  they  talked  they  heard  the 
dinner  pails  clanking  as  some  of 
the  men  came  down  the  home 
ward  hill.  Then  an  oar  car  sided 
under  the  window  close  by  the 
house.  In  it  were  the  workmen 


85 


of  the  nutt  and  bolt  factory  — 
Quarry  in  their  midst,  his  face  ar 
dently  conceited  and  his  gestures 
highly  alcoholic. 

Emma  scanned  him  with  a  fierce 
contempt.  "  He  wouldn't  be  like 
that  if  he  could  stir  around,"  she 
exclaimed,  pointing  toward  her  own 
room  door. 

Then  she  stood  by  Jarlsen's  bed 
to  avoid  Quarry,  and  as  she  looked 
at  him  he  laughed  ;  it  was  his  old, 
mirthful,  kindly  laughter.  It  seemed 
to  the  girl,  who  cherished  him,  that 
he  had  brought  pain  to  their  house, 
and  had  also  been  spared  its  conse 
quences.  She  suffered  —  he  slept. 


VI. 

A    BAD    BARGAIN. 

"  It  is  well  to  pay  your  debts,  on  the  chance 
you'll  lose  your  money." 

IN  four  days' time  Black  received 
a  letter  from  the  paralysis  special 
ist  that  delighted  him.  It  consisted 
solely  of  questions  regarding  trains 
and  Soot  City  conveyances  and  the 
distance  from  the  station  to  the  pa 
tient's  abiding  place.  To  the  genial 
undertaker  intercourse  with  a  man 
too  busy  to  con  a  time-table  was 
social  promotion. 

He  went  at  once  to  Emma,  and 


<2t  Sab  Sargain.  87 

in  a  mixed  state  of  reverence  and 
elation  read  her  the  physician's  curt 
note,  with  his  own  copious  com 
ment. 

"  Sounds  'cute,  don't  he  ? "  said 
Black.  "  He  knows  I  understand 
him.  It  must  be  a  kind  of  com 
fort  to  him  comin'  to  a  strange 
place  to  find  a  man  of  his  own 
stamp  who  feels  just  his  way  about 
the  game  o'  life." 

Putting  his  tongue  in  his  cheek, 
he  was  soon  lost  in  wonder  to  find 
himself,  after  long  years  of  compar 
ative  obscurity,  so  very  like  this 
shining  light  of  medical  science. 

Emma  almost  said  her  thought 
aloud ;  it  was  well  she  did  not,  for 
she  was  saying  inwardly,  "  You  can 
always  tell  when  Jerry  Black's  been 


88 


to  the  city,  he  has  such  an  extra 
green  look." 

With  Martha  Long  for  aid,  she 
prepared  for  the  doctor  joyfully. 
They  washed  everything  just  for 
the  love  of  the  unaccustomed, 
that  seizes  women  under  suspense. 
Everything  had  been  washed  for 
the  wedding,  and  was  still  much 
cleaner  than  its  ordinary  state. 
There  was  one  day  when  the 
house-cleaning  was  finished  and  the 
doctor  not  yet  come  ;  so  Martha 
undertook  a  little  rudimentary 
cooking,  and  Emma  raked  up  the 
little  space  of  yard  and  dug  out 
the  weeds  from  the  beds  of  cinder- 
spotted  marigolds. 

She  tended  J  arisen  more  and 
more,  and  the  friendliness  Martha 


31  Bab  Bargain.  89 

showed  toward  her  pleased  her 
mightily.  She  would  take  her  to 
the  Swede's  bed  and  show  her  how 
his  looks  were  coming  back,  and 
then,  forgetful  of  her  presence, 
would  stand  in  silent  wonder  at 
the  expression  of  wisdom  fast  be 
coming  habitual  to  him. 

He  seemed  to  know  more  of 
what  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  be,  than 
any  of  the  people  she  had  seen,  and 
he  had  not  seemed  so  wise  when  he 
had  lips  wherewith  to  speak  wisely. 
For  a  half  hour  and  more  she  would 

sometimes  watch  him,  unconscious 

«. 

of  time,  and  at  last  a  fit  of  longing, 
like  a  mother's,  would  bend  her  to 
him.  Anxious  for  his  thoughts,  she 
would  put  her  hand  on  his  temple 
as  if  feeling  for  them.  He  would 


90  0t0nc;pastttre0. 

smile  and  say  "  Emma " ;  then  her 
blushes  would  come  as  they  had 
when  he  was  a  bright  mystery  to 
her,  because  she  dared  not  raise  her 
eyes  to  his  face  ;  and  she  took  the 
utterance  of  her  name  as  an  an 
swer  to  her  craving. 

Quarry  and  her  father  had  be 
come  cares  she  could  not  shoulder ; 
she  simply  could  not  think  of  them. 
Quarry  never  returned  from  work 
without  company,  and  he  and  his 
friends  would  sit  in  the  yard  on 
Emma's  chairs,  which  they  carried 
from  the  kitchen  without  her  per 
mission.  In  a  man  she  liked,  this 
proceeding  might  have  been  an 
noying  ;  but  from  Quarry  it  was  a 
liberty  that  was  enraging. 

One  day  Emma  heard  him  stir- 


Sob  Sargain.  91 


ring  up  strife  with  his  tongue  ;  he 
was  a  fascinating  speaker,  even 
when  —  as  the  Swedes  said  —  he 
"  talked  beside  his  mouth,"  which 
is  their  idiom  for  conversational 
embellishment. 

She  called  him  to  her.  "  Send 
them  away,"  she  said  shortly. 

Without  a  word  of  dissent  he 
made  them  move,  and  Mr.  Butte 
shambled  out  to  bring  in  the 
chairs. 

"Take  them  in  yourself,"  she 
called  wickedly.  "  You  was  strong 
enough  to  get  them  out  there." 

With  a  more  sullen  compliance 
he  put  them  just  within  the  narrow 
doorsill. 

Still  she  eyed  him  with  her 
mouth  stretched  into  something 


92 


like    a   smile.     "  Put   'em   in   their 
places,"  she  said. 

Again  Quarry  obeyed  her. 

Then  her  contemptuous  smile  be 
came  laughter.  "  You  wouldn't  hev 
done  thet  ef  you  hedn't  got  wind 
of  what  I'm  goin'  to  even  to  you. 
See  here  —  you  talk  too  much. 
Would  you  talk  less  if  you  had 
more  money?  I  guess  maybe. 
Here's  what  you  said  at  Martha 
Long's  party.  You  showed  how 
it  was  a  good  thing  August  J  ari 
sen  got  the  blast,  because  I  kind  o' 
leaned  toward  you  latterly.  And 
as  for  you,  you  says  you'd  always 
leaned  toward  me,  and  it  was  bet 
ter  to  have  August  J  arisen  saved 
learnin'  it."  The  girl  covered  him 
with  her  tragic  eyes,  and  expressed 


Bargain.  93 


her  own  strong  instinct  in  a  ges 
ture  she  had  learned  from  the  Po- 
lacks  —  she  crossed  herself  with  a 
rapid  hand.  She  had  never  before 
felt  Quarry  to  be  so  evil.  "  Now," 
she  said,  "  fifty  dollars  if  you'll  stop 
that  !  " 

For  a  moment  delight  leaped  from 
his  eyes.  He  threw  out  his  hand  ; 
then  he  looked  at  her  darkly,  his 
expression  altered  to  one  of  fear 
and  misgiving. 

"All  right,"  he  said  finally. 

"Well,  I'll  pay  you  later,"  said 
Emma,  and  every  word  she  spoke 
cut  like  a  whip,  her  voice  was  so 
shrill  with  contemptuous  anger. 

She  was  a  young  girl,  and  had 
hoped  he  would  not  take  the 
money;  partly  because  she  didn't 


94 


wish  to  believe  that  he  could  be 
mean  enough  to  take  it  from  her, 
when  he  knew  that  he  was  the  last 
person  the  Swede  would  give  it  to, 
had  he  any  longer  the  power  to 
give. 

Her  lips  shrank  away  from  her 
teeth  in  contemptuous,  writhing 
smiles  when  she  thought  of  it. 

She  scarcely  knew  how  to  array 
herself  for  the  doctor's  visit.  She 
wanted  to  impress  him  with  a  sense 
of  her  fitness  to  nurse  the  patient. 
She  had  had  visions  of  Jarlsen's  de 
parture  in  an  ambulance  for  some 
city  hospital,  where  a  uniformed 
woman  would  hear  his  groans  and 
heed  them  for  hire  only. 

Quarry  knew  nothing  of  the 
doctor's  advent.  Emma  under- 


31  Sab  Bargain.  95 

stood  that  he  would  talk  about  it, 
and  that  her  enemies  would  say  she 
must  be  sure  of  Jarlsen's  death 
when  she  dared  let  loose  a  first- 
class  pill-man  on  him. 

Then,  besides,  the  Englishman 
was  unreasonable  and  iterative,  like 
many  Englishmen ;  and  she  knew 
how  he  would  search  his  mind  for 
ways  to  tell  her  that  J arisen  was  as 
good  as  dead  already.  "  I  ought 
to  pay  him  right  away,  or  he'll 
do  a  little  of  his  fancy  talkin', 
maybe." 

Black  went  to  the  station  in  a 
funeral  carriage,  which  was  the  more 
imposing  as  there  were  but  four  in 
Soot  City.  (Casually — he  paid  toll 
on  the  turnpike  for  the  eight  horses 
that  drew  these  vehicles,  and  they 


were  always  taxed  as  "  pleasure 
teams."  Again  casually — he  saw  no 
joke  in  this,  even  when  the  mourn 
ers  received  legacies.)  He  wore  a 
red  tie  with  his  black,  professionally 
sombre  clothes,  and  this  he  did  as 
he  would  not  imply  Jarlsen's  death 
to  the  doctor,  in  case  the  physician 
should  be  standing  on  the  platform 
and  should  see  him  before  he  could 
get  speech  of  him.  Black  employed 
his  imagination  in  this  sort  of  futile 
arrangement  of  improbable  circum 
stance. 

On  the  doctor's  arrival  they 
drove  directly  to  the  Buttes.  They 
alighted  at  the  Bridge  and  saw 
thence  to  Emma's  doorway,  where 
Quarry  was  standing.  He  looked 
as  though  he  had  had  rum  in  his 


31  Cab  Bargain.  97 

tea,  and  as  if  even  that  had  not 
reconciled  him  to  existence. 

"Where's  Emma?"  he  asked  of 
Black. 

"She's  in  with  August.  Dr. 
Brent,  this  gentleman  lives  here ; 
he's  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Butte's, 
and  Mr.  Jarlsen's  too,  I  may  say." 

Quarry,  returned  in  the  noon  re 
cess  to  find  a  perfect  stranger  about 
to  invade  the  house ;  did  not  un 
derstand  the  situation,  as  was  very 
evident.  He  grinned  absently,  and 
went  toward  Jarlsen's  room  door. 

"  Emma,  come  out  here."  His  tone 
was  wheedling,  and  his  fingers  were 
tapping  nervously  on  the  wall.  She 
came  out  to  him  quickly  ;  her  eyes 
were  bright  and  her  face  was  full  of 
a  vigorous  hope. 


98 


"  Hurry  up  !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  want 
to  bring  the  doctor  in." 

"  Could  you  oblige  me  with  the 
trifle  you  named  Thursday  ?  I  want 
to  blow  it  right  in  this  noon." 

Emma  thought  it  wise  to  pay 
him  at  once,  although  her  heart 
was  beating  in  her  ears  —  she 
longed  so  for  the  doctor's  opinion 
on  J  arisen.  She  hesitated,  and  then 
said  :  "  It  is  in  the  wallet  between 
the  shake-downs  in  the  lean-to 
chamber.  Put  it  back  where  you 
found  it." 

She  forgot  him  as  she  greeted 
the  doctor;  her  whole  mind  was 
full  of  the  Swede. 


VII. 

TROUBLE    ACCUMULATES. 

"If  you're  feeding  a  mean  dog,  be  sure  he'll 
bite  you  when  he's  had  enough." 

THE  doctor  let  Emma  tell  him 
her  own  complete  narrative  of  Jarl- 
sen's  mishap ;  nor  did  he  interrupt 
once,  save  with  questions  that  served 
as  a  spur  to  her  flagging  memory. 
Her  mode  of  recital  was  detailed 
and  feminine,  obnoxious  to  science. 
She  told,  incidentally  (but  at  great 
length)  how  Jarlsen  had  always 
treated  her;  and  quoted  his  say 
ings,  which  were,  in  her  retrospec- 

99 


ioo 


tive  judgment,  prophetic.  The  doc 
tor's  manner  was  so  courteous  that 
a  more  experienced  girl  than 
Emma  could  not  have  inferred  that 
Jarlsen's  relations  with  her  before 
the  accident  would  not  strike  his 
physician  as  indicative  of  his  con 
dition  after  it. 

Dr.  Brent  had  a  sober,  inscruta 
ble  smile  ;  he  gave  the  observer  an 
impression  of  seeing  with  great  dif 
ficulty,  although  he  wore  no  glasses. 
His  manner  was  at  times  indiffer 
ent,  yet  he  inspired  confidence.  As 
Jerry  had  said,  "  He  don't  have  to 
hustle  to  cure  you,  like  these  farmin' 
pill-men  we  hev  to  Soot  City." 

Emma  was  so  rapt  in  the  first 
uninterrupted  recital  of  her  troubles 
that  she  did  not  observe  Quarry  as 


trouble 


he  crossed  the  kitchen  to  the  house 
door.  He  had  the  wallet  in  his 
hand,  which  shook ;  his  face  twitched 
and  was  chalk  white. 

"  I  hope  that  is  not  your  father," 
said  Dr.  Brent  politely  as  he  would 
say  :  "  There  is  a  shower  coming ;  I 
hope  it  may  not  wet  you." 

Emma  looked  at  him  and  liked 
him,  for  she  saw  that  he  knew  at  a 
glance  what  Quarry  was.  And  she 
had  taken  lessons  in  him  for  a  life 
time  and  had  not  learned  him  yet. 
Then  the  doctor  rose  and  went  into 
Jarlsen's  room. 

Waiting  for  the  doctor's  opinion 
is  one  of  the  fearful  things  that  civ 
ilization  has  imposed  on  humanity. 
It  is  during  such  intervals  of  sus 
pense  that  a  racked  mind  learns  the 


Btonejwstttrea. 


pattern  of  the  carpet,  the  similarity 
in  outline  of  some  familiar  pieces  of 
furniture,  and  of  some  impossible 
beast  or  bird  sprawling  on  the  wall 
papers.  Emma  discovered  stains  in 
the  sheer  curtains  at  the  window. 
She  prayed  in  a  general  way,  and 
feared  the  moment  when  the  doctor 
should  appear  again. 

For  the  first  time  she  observed 
that  quite  a  crowd  surrounded  the 
house,  looking  in  at  the  windows. 
They  wore  long  faces  beneath  their 
eager  eyes,  and  looked  as  though 
good  news  would  be  a  (conversa 
tional)  calamity.  Jerry  Black,  how 
ever,  stood  among  them  with  the 
perfect  aspect  of  honest  sympathy. 

It  was  to  him  that  Emma  beck 
oned.  He  entered  the  house  in  re- 


103 


sponse,  with  an  air  of  great  impor 
tance.  He  had  been  telling  half 
the  town  by  twos  and  threes,  and  as 
a  great  favour,  exactly  what  he  had 
said  to  Dr.  Brent.  The  town  lis 
tened  in  the  hope  of  hearing  what 
Dr.  Brent  had  said  to  him. 

Emma  motioned  him  to  stand 
close  to  her. 

"  When  do  you  pay  ?  "  said  she. 

"'Most  any  time,"  said  Jerry. 
"  You  can  pay  the  first  day  for  a 
whole  set  of  visits,  or  you  can  pay 
when  he  sends  a  bill,  or  'most  any 
way." 

"  How  can  I  tell  how  often  he's 
comin'  ?  " 

"  He  ain't  let  pass  that  he's  corn- 
in'  more  than  this  once,  but  you'll 
have  to  go  high  for  this  once. 


104  Sionepastures. 

Think  of  the  fares  here  and  back ; 
the  car  money  alone  is  twenty-five 
dollars,  and  not  countin'  chair-cars 
or  meals." 

"  Well,  I'll  give  him  a  hundred, 
and  see  how  he  likes  that." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jerry  ;  "  you 
give  it  to  him  now.  He'd  be 
more  likely  to  come  later,  if  he 
knew  we  pay  before  he  can  put 
hat  on  to  go  home." 

She  had  planned  it  all  ;  the 
money  should  be  put  in  his  hand 
just  as  he  was  leaving.  She 
thought  of  no  receipt,  just  as  she 
thought  of  none  for  the  money 
she  put  in  the  plate  on  those  de 
lightful  courtship  Sundays.  In 
deed,  she  felt  the  transactions  to 
be  similar. 


d rouble  QlcctttnttlaUs.          105 

She  wanted  to  show,  just  as  she 
had  shown  then,  that  though  Jarl- 
sen  was  her  man,  he  was  no  pauper. 
The  bill  was  to  be  paid  in  the  sight 
of  the  surrounding  multitude  at 
the  windows. 

Presently  Dr.  Brent  came  out. 
He  looked  at  the  faces  set  in  the 
window  frames,  and  made  no  com 
ment.  Emma  realized,  with  hope 
full  grown  to  thankfulness,  that  had 
he  felt  there  was  nothing  encourag 
ing  to  say,  he  would  have  dispersed 
the  waiting  men  and  women  before 
he  spoke. 

"  Miss  Butte,"  he  said,  "  I've  seen 
worse  than  he  recover.  His  sight 
is  gone,  sealed  up  with  scorch ;  but 
he'll  hear  again  some  day.  Get  him 
up  as  soon  as  the  smart  goes." 


io6 


Some  one  in  the  window  said, 
"  He'll  make  wages  dead  easy  if  he 
hears  again." 

"  Fm  glad  ,"  said  Dr.  Brent,  turn 
ing  toward  the  window.  "  Encour 
age  him  to  work  when  the  smart  is 
over." 

He  declined  Emma's  offered  meal, 
and  prepared  for  departure,  writing 
on  a  bit  of  paper  what  he  wished  to 
have  done  for  Jarlsen.  When  he 
rose,  hat  in  hand,  Emma  spoke  to 
him.  Her  voice  had  a  thrill  of  pride 
in  it,  and  her  high  spirit  lent  a  dig 
nity  to  the  gaudy  finery  intended 
to  decorate  her  awkward  frock. 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  "will  you  set 
a  minute  ?  " 

She  entered  the  lean-to,  erect  and 
elastic.  Three  minutes  passed  while 


®  rouble  2Utrnnniate0.          107 

the  crowd  asked  the  doctor  ques 
tions,  which  he  answered  in  words 
of  such  strangeness  to  their  ears 
that  they  enjoyed  all  the  sensa 
tions  of  those  who  communicate 
with  spirits.  They  laughed  at  his 
least  word,  and  he,  perceiving  it, 
darkened  his  sayings  the  further. 

When  Emma  returned,  her  face 
was  set  and  her  cheeks  flamed,  so 
that  their  heat  alone  drew  the 
tears  to  her  eyes.  Her  hands 
shook,  and  hardly  held  the  bit  of 
soiled  paper  and  the  stumpy  pencil 
that  she  carried.  "  Will  you  tell  me 
your  name  and  address  ?  "  she  asked 
of  the  doctor. 

A  sigh  broke  from  her  lips  that 
tried  not  to  be  a  groan. 

Black   looked    at   her,   and    the 


io8 


colour  flew  from  his  face.  He 
said  afterward  that  his  heart  beat 
so  that  he  thought  some  one 
knocked  on  the  door.  He  knew 
what  had  happened. 

So  did  the  doctor.  "  My  ac 
counts  are  payable  in  May,"  he 
said,  being  kind,  and  knowing  Soot 
City  to  be  ignorant. 

Emma  smiled  again,  and,  with 
the  patronizing  manner  that  is  the 
outcome  of  complete  shyness,  said, 
"  Well,  you're  a  real  good  doc 
tor." 

And  so,  with  a  slight  constric 
tion  of  his  kindly  heart,  he  shook 
her  hand  and  departed. 

But  she  caught  Black  at  his 
exit.  "That  Quarry's  stole!"  said 
she. 


2Ucmtmlote0.         109 


Jerry  looked  sick  and  old  ;  his 
voice  sounded  bitter.  "  I  ain't  got 
a  cent  just  now  to  spare,"  he  said. 
Then  he  grew  fiercer,  and  cursed 
the  Englishman  exhaustively  and 
with  the  awkwardness  of  a  man 
unused  to  such  conversational  in 
dulgence. 

The  crowd  followed  as  far  as  the 
funeral  carriage  and  stood  to  watch 
it  disappear  in  billows  of  dust.  The 
white  horses  and  the  black  barouche 
were  alike  buff  before  they  were  out 
of  sight  of  The  Tracks. 

And  in  sullen  quiet  Emma  set 
herself  to  wait  for  Quarry,  not 
trusting  herself  to  look  at  Jarlsen 
lest  the  sight  of  him  should  soften 
her  hate. 

"  He   took    the   whole   wallet  !  " 


no 


she  repeated  to  herself,  "  and  he 
was  the  only  man  August  wouldn't 
give  to.  He  knew  it,  too,  or  he'd 
hev  asked  something  off  him  when 
first  he  seen  we  was  settin'  it  up 
together." 


VIII. 

QUARRY'S    ATTEMPT    AT    EXPLANA 
TION. 

"  A  man  will  say  more  to  himself  in  excuse 
than  he  will  to  his  God  or  his  friend." 

EMMA'S  eyes  roved  from  object 
to  object  as  though  she  sought 
escape  ;  they  always  returned  to 
the  door,  whence  she  expected 
Quarry.  It  was  a  duty,  she  rea 
soned,  to  turn  this  man's  stealing 
to  swift  shame.  Words  flocked  to 
her  tongue  that  she  could  not  re 
member  having  used  before,  and 
her  mind's  eye  saw  the  English 
man  wince  under  them.  A  demon 
in 


of  invective  filled  her  brain  with 
fierce  thoughts  as  she  tore  the 
shake-downs  apart  in  a  final  hunt 
for  the  wallet.  And  then  a  fit  of 
sobs  and  shaking  beset  her  as  she 
waited  again  in  the  kitchen  for 
what  she  hoped  would  be  in  some 
sort  vengeance. 

She  remembered  every  mean 
and,  in  her  characterizing  adjective, 
every  "  useless "  thing  Quarry  had 
done ;  how  he  had  lied,  and  when. 
She  remembered  his  drunkenness — 
that  terrible  drunkenness  in  which 
his  self-assurance  seemed  boundless; 
the  remembered  vanity  of  his  face 
startled  her,  and  it  seemed  marvel 
lous  that  his  faults  had  not  kept 
him  from  their  household  as  they 
had  kept  him  from  their  hearts. 


's  Attempt  at  Explanation.  113 

When  some  person  has  been  the 
provoking  cause  of  emotions  so 
strong  that  the  mind  can  not  shake 
off  their  grasp,  it  is  quick  to  miscon 
ceive  that  person.  Quarry's  voice 
was  a  shock  to  Emma  when  at  last 
she  heard  it  in  the  yard,  although  a 
short  time  ago  she  had  seen  and 
had  speech  with  him. 

Her  heart  sank  when  she  found 
he  was  talking  with  himself  and  in 
a  laudatory  strain.  His  effort  was 
to  walk  straight,  but  his  accom 
plishment  was  slight.  He  lurched 
to  and  from  either  marigold  border, 
so  that  the  walk  seemed  serpentine 
to  Emma's  shocked  gaze.  "  No," 
he  said,  "  the  ruins  is  covered  with 
ivory  ;  I  shall  pluck  away  the  vine, 
and  the  presspit  is  discovered."  He 


Slonejwstureo. 


spoke  as  he  walked,  doing  as  much 
as  possible  at  each  lucid  interval 
between  lapses.  "  No  friend  shall 
fall  away  into  the  presspit,  like  I 
nearly  did." 

His  fall  was  upon  nothing  more 
precipitous  than  the  chair  by  the 
door.  Seeing  anger  on  Emma's 
face,  he  attempted  to  soothe  her 
with  vague  smiles  of  fearful  ex 
tent  ;  they  travelled  swiftly  across 
his  flushed  face  and  divided  it  into 
north  and  south  intemperate  zones. 

"  Stop  that"  called  Emma;  "you've 
done  enough  !  " 

"Not  yet!"  shouted  Quarry,  im 
pelled  by  an  erratic  enthusiasm  ; 
"  I'll  do  more  for  my  Emma.  I've 
laid  out  the  money  real  well.  We'll 
buy  the  deepo  and  live  in  it  !  It's 


'o  Attempt  at  Explanation.  115 

the  finest  house  in  Soot  City,  and  if 
you  want  J arisen  too,  you  can  keep 
him  for  hired  help.  I  don't  want 
there  should  be  any  stinting  where 
love  is  king." 

"  Give  me  my  wallet,"  said  Emma. 

"  I  have  given  it  where  it'll  do  the 
most  good.  The  town  rejoices  that 
a  good  deed  was  done.  Mine  the 
deed  though  not  the  money."  He 
used  this  phrase  as  a  sort  of  chant. 

"Quarry,"  said  Emma  sternly, 
"  sober  up,  and  think  true  for  a 
minute ! " 

But  he  interrupted  to  say:  "So 
ber  up  ?  Emma,  you're  enough  to 
turn  a  saint.  I  am  so  sober  that 
the  boys  laugh  at  me  the  way  they 
done  at  Jarlsen,  and  I've  done  the 
wonderfullest  thing!  Money'll  be 


so  loose  you  can  pick  it  up  off  any 
thing  in  such  a  little  while !  I  in 
vested  yours  in  a  great  concern  ; 
it's  safe.  I'm  at  the  head  of  it!" 
He  finished,  with  some  tardy  regard 
for  truth,  and,  waving  his  arms 
comprehensively,  lapsed  again  into 
vagueness. 

"  Where  did  you  put  it  ?  "  Emma 
uttered  her  queries  with  pains,  as  if 
she  put  them  to  a  foreigner. 

Then  came  lavish  excuse.  "  I 
put  it  in  an  investment,"  said  he. 
He  was  a  little  sobered  now,  and 
wore  a  scared  look.  "  Mr.  J arisen, 
Tore  he  was  took  with  the  blast,  got 
me  to  promise  to  invest  his  money. 
He  had  a  pulmonition  of  the  blast, 
so  he  did." 

Emma  looked  at  him  again ;   her 


's  Attempt  at  (Zfrqjlattation.  117 

face  was  white  and  hopeless,  and 
its  young  modelling  seemed  aged 
and  heavy. 

"  You  ain't  gone  and  sunk  that 
altogether,  Quarry,  hev  you  ?  If 
you  hev,  there's  only  the  Stonepas- 
tures  left.  It'll  be  a  hard  thing  to 
pass  the  Bridge  once  for  all  and  see 
your  work-fellers  comin'  through 
on  the  cars,  and  you  only  comin'  es 
fur  es  the  Pastures  from  the  factory. 
Can't  you  think  what  you  done 
with  it?" 

"  I've  spent  it.  It's  invested — 
but  still — it's  spent." 

She  saw  that  the  men  would 
have  to  take  the  matter  up  for 
her.  At  first  anger  had  nerved 
her,  but  now  she  felt  weakly  de 
spairing.  It  seemed  to  her  that 


there  was  no  use  in  effort  to  set 
right  circumstances  so  awry,  until, 
as  she  said,  "  things  had  stopped 
happening." 

"  Well,  you're  a  thief,  anyway," 
she  said,  "  and  I'd  fight  you  if  I 
had  any  pith  in  me ! " 

Quarry  raised  himself.  "That's 
you  all  over,"  he  remarked  sadly. 
"  I've  seen  you  leap  on  Jarlsen 
quick  as  a  wicked  cat ;  and  a  lady 
as  lifts  a  hand  to  a  half-dead  man 
is  no  lady.  You  have  made  my 
life  very  profane,  Emma.  I  don't 
find  in  you  the  flavour  of  a  godly 
woman,  Emma  Butte,"  he  added 
with  a  final  effort  at  dignity. 
"  You're  a — a — mean  girl !  " 

Emma  rose,  and,  standing,  looked 
him  over  thoroughly.  No  idea  of 


s  Attempt  at  (Explanation.  119 

law  came  to  aid  her  ignorant  help 
lessness.  She  understood  now  the 
saying  that  women  were  "  put 
upon."  Some  girls  would  have 
cried,  but  Emma  had  one  sweet 
drop  in  the  bitter  draught.  She 
would  have  to  move  to  the  Stone- 
pastures,  but  by  so  doing  she  could 
pay  the  doctor,  even  though  she 
had  to  shave  again. 


IX. 

BREAKING    UP    A    HOME. 

"  It  is  better  to  live  under  God's  sky  than  un 
der  a  roof  when  there's  no  luck  there." 

You  and  I,  knowing  the  use  of 
pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  the  efficacy 
of  latter-day  postal  systems,  must 
remember  that  there  are  degrees  of 
education ;  also,  that  all  the  meth 
ods  of  communication  in  well  or 
ganized  communities  are  as  un 
known  to  the  ignorant,  Americo- 
alien  population  of  such  places  as 
Soot  City  as  is  the  fate  of  nations  to 
the  speculative  schoolboy.  Emma 


120 


Breaking  Hp  a  fjome.         121 

needed  Black's  counsel,  but  she  did 
not  think  of  the  post  as  a  means 
of  getting  a  letter  to  a  man  in  her 
own  town.  She  reasoned  that  post- 
office  people  would  slight  mail  mat 
ter  not  destined  to  go  by  train  to 
other  cities.  So  her  anxious  heart 
kept  her  waking  to  catch  the  light, 
that  she  might  get  away  in  secret 
to  Black's  house  and  there  put  her 
case  in  his  ever-open  and  ever-busy 
hands. 

Youthful  weariness  demands 
sleep.  Emma  was  young  and 
overweary,  and,  as  a  consequence, 
overslept. 

It  was  in  the  fear  that  calamity 
might  have  stolen  another  march 
on  her  that  she  dressed  herself.  She 
had  about  her  a  neatness  that  en- 


122  Stonepaslnrcs. 

raged  the  down-at-heel  disheart 
ened,  of  which  there  are  so  many 
in  labouring  communities. 

"  The  world,"  she  thought,  "  has 
thumped  me  till  I  ain't  got  half 
the  spring  I  hed  to  start  on ;  and 
that's  the  reason  I'm  goin'  to  dress 
up.  I'll  wear  cuffs  till  I've  got  to 
sell  'em,  and  a  collar,  ef  I  do  have 
to  shave  for  a  livin'." 

But  she  had  not  enough  pleasure 
in  living  left  to  heat  the  coffee  that 
her  father  had  used  at  his  breakfast ; 
she  was  only  thankful  that  he  had 
gone  away  for  his  paper  By  the 
Bridge,  and  that  she  might  set 
about  vacating  the  house,  with  a 
will.  She  did  not  think  of  consult 
ing  him.  When  a  man  has  con 
sented  all  his  life  to  anything  and 


Breaking  ftp  a  Ijome.         123 

never  met  any  circumstance,  crucial 
or  casual,  with  aught  but  irrelevant 
comment,  he  is  rarely  a  factor  in 
other  people's  plans. 

She  was  glad  she  had  not  had  to 
get  breakfast,  for  she  had  to  tend 
J arisen.  The  day  was  wet,  and  his 
hurts  seemed  the  sorer  for  the 
damp.  When  she  had  done  all  for 
him  she  laid  her  hand  on  his,  but 
the  dread  of  packing  her  wedding 
things  was  making  war  on  her  en 
ergies.  She  felt  she  could  not  rest 
till  she  had  packed  the  white  gown 
out  of  sight  and  mind.  Before 
now  she  had  held  a  private  service 
of  tears  over  her  six  wedding  pres 
ents.  Miss  Bentley  had  given  her 
a  jacket  edged  with  good  fur,  and 
her  sister  had  given  her  some  fine 


124  Stonejmsttires. 

stockings  ;  but  her  lover's  gift 
meant  more  to  her  than  any  other 
inanimate  thing.  It  certainly  meant 
more  than  bread,  for  she  would  have 
starved  before  she  sold  it,  and  died 
in  happiness  had  her  eyes  but  met 
it  as  they  closed  finally. 

It  was  a  large  locket  of  reddish 
gold,  embossed  in  clumsy  ara 
besque  ;  within  were  two  photo 
graphs — of  Jarlsen  and  of  Cheyne 
Falls,  where  they  were  to  have 
spent  their  wedding  week.  It  was 
the  fashionable  tribute  from  groom 
to  bride  in  Jarlsen's  circle  of  Soot 
citizens,  and  Emma  felt  that  with 
this  gift  he  conferred  his  higher 
class  on  her.  It  was  just  what  he 
would  have  given  the  first  fore 
man's  daughter.  She  opened  the 


Breaking  Up  a  Ijome.         125 

locket  and  looked  in.  Eve  may 
have  felt  like  her  and  Emma 
thought  of  her;  it  was  an  angel 
with  a  fiery  sword  who  put  them 
both  out  of  God's  Eden,  she  re 
membered.  But  some  of  Eve's 
memories  must  have  been  self-re 
proachful,  and  Emma  was  spared 
that  misery.  She  was  also  a  fine 
enough  type  to  appreciate  that. 

She  was  shutting  up  her  little 
shrine  when  Jerry  Black  found  her. 
They  met  with  tears  that  had  not 
started  at  their  meeting  ;  for  Jerry 
had  wept  at  having  to  return  in 
sorrow  to  the  house  where  but 
yesterday  hope  had  hurried  him. 

To  begin  a  new  series  of  troubles 
just  as  he  had  completed  an  old  one 
told  on  his  nerves.  He  had  spent 


the  long  night  praying  for  Emma, 
his  head  on  his  shiny  rosewood  din 
ing  table. 

He  always  showed  this  table  with 
pride ;  it  was  made  from  the  extra 
wood  he  had  been  commissioned  to 
buy  for  the  Bentley  coffins.  He 
had  made  it  himself,  and  time  and 
again  had  shown  it  to  Miss  Bent- 
ley,  in  whom  he  felt  a  great  disap 
pointment,  as  she  never  manifested 
any  satisfaction  at  the  sight.  The 
cats  leaped  upon  it  nightly,  as  it 
was  Jerry's  habitual  place  of  prayer, 
and  it  sometimes  seemed  to  him 
that  they  exchanged  glances  with 
each  other  in  his  despite,  glances  of 
criticism  at  his  fervour.  He  never 
drove  them  away,  however. 

"  Emma,"  he  said,  his  lips  trem- 


Breaking  Up  a  $ome.         127 

bling  and  his  pale  eyes  filling  fast, 
"your  trouble's  fearful  heavy,  but 
you  won't  give  in.  I've  seen  to 
Quarry,  and  it  jest  ain't  no  use ;  you 
can't  get  anything  out  of  him ;  he 
give  it  all  in  to  the  Workers'  Pro 
tective  Circle.  He  give  it  in  to  the 
aggression  fund.  They're  going  to 
order  a  strike  for  the  same  pay  for 
winter  days  nine  hours'  work,  as 
they  get  for  a  ten-hours'  summer's 
day.  I  think  that's  it.  My  work's 
among  the  peaceful,  and  some 
times  I  thank  God  I  hev  it  mostly 
among  dead  men,  seein'  what  the 
live  ones  is  like.  But,  Emma,  he's 
give  the  money  in,  so's  the  strike 
fund  can  grow.  He's  a  gainin', 
winnin'  kind  of  speaker,  and  he's 
give  up  what  he  took  to  their  cause, 


128  Stonepastntm 

and  no  one  ain't  a-goin'  to  touch 
him.  Now  you  jest  remember  that 
the  night's  blackest  just  before  the 
sun  comes,  and  don't  you  loose 
your  grip.  When  J  arisen  comes 
out  from  the  blast  you  want  him  to 
find  you  jest  es  straight  and  steady 
es  when  he  was  took — don't  you 
now  ?  " 

The  tears  slipped  from  Emma's 
eyes  at  the  little  man's  tone.  Her 
face  was  as  tranquil  as  it  was  sor 
rowing,  and,  as  she  answered,  there 
was  no  bitterness  in  her  voice  and 
no  fretfulness  or  rebellion  in  ges 
ture  or  look.  She  did  not  feel 
bound  to  exhibit  spirit  in  his  pres 
ence.  "  O  Jerry,"  she  said,  "  I  think 
I  do.  But  I  can't  stay  fit  for  him 
when  I  live  with  thieves  who  rob 


Breaking  Hp  a  $ome.         129 

him.  I'm  glad  he  got  the  blast  ef 
I  have  to  get  low-toned ;  he'll  be 
nearer  a  mate  for  me." 

Jerry  stayed  on  and  helped  her. 
He  packed  away  the  white  dress ; 
he  was  used  to  handling  things  that 
were  sacred  to  the  memory  of  a 
happy  past,  and  began  to  pull 
Emma's  house  to  pieces  as  only  a 
woman  could  be  expected  to  do. 
Martha  Long  came  in ;  she  was 
sewing  as  she  walked.  She  was  a 
brisk  woman,  and  got  through  half 
her  work  on  the  wing. 

"  God's  name ! "  she  said  to  Black, 
"  what's  come  to  Emma  ?  She 
looks  hurt,  and  white  as  a  death- 
sheet." 

Jerry  told  her  what  had  hap 
pened,  and  Martha,  without  a  word, 


130 


went  over  and  took  both  the  girl's 
hands  in  hers  and  pressed  them  to 
her  sides  ;  she  never  lost  hold  of 
her  sewing,  and  presently  set  to 
work  again. 

"  Well,"  she  half  screamed  in  in 
dignation,  "  of  all  the  poison  toads 
and  irregular  vipers  in  the  world 
and  out  of  it,  I  guess  Quarry's  the 
lowest  down.  He's  a  dirt-mean 
man  !  I  suppose  you'll  move  out, 
and  take  the  yeller  house  on  the 
Pastures.  There  ain't  no  one  in  it 
since  last  May,  and  it  has  a  porch. 
You  won't  stay  there  long,"  Martha 
said  with  conviction.  "  Your  kind 
don't  keep  to  no  rent-free  Stone- 
pastures.  You'll  come  back  to  the 
town,  and  the  crowd'll  cheer  you  — 
you'll  see." 


Breaking  Hp  a  fjonte.         131 

"  Well,"  Emma  replied,  "  I'm  go 
ing  this  afternoon." 

Accordingly,  at  five,  or  a  little 
later,  Jerry  brought  a  funeral  car 
riage  By  the  Bridge,  and  old  Butte 
and  Emma  and  Jerry  and  Martha 
carried  J  arisen  on  a  shake-down 
along  the  Tracks.  The  sun,  as  Jerry 
observed,  was  "  leanin'  pretty  near 
the  west  line,"  and  the  sky  was 
bright  above  the  Stonepastures.  It 
had  cleared  in  the  early  afternoon, 
and  all  the  odours,  bad  and  good, 
seemed  flying  about,  riding  on  the 
cool  breezes  that  swept  over  the 
Tracks.  The  high-standing  ripe 
grasses  caught  the  level  shafts  of 
sun  and  bowed  before  the  wind, 
glorified  in  the  bright  light.  Jarl- 
sen  questioned  them  about  his  re- 


moval,  but  gave  no  evidence  that 
he  heard  their  replies  except  once, 
when  he  said  that  Emma  "  sound 
ed"  tired.  But  his  voice  died 
away  in  groanings,  and  he  could 
not  answer  their  other  questions. 
Emma  felt  that  he  heard  her 
voice  and  did  not  distinguish  the 
words. 

Jerry  felt  so  too.  He  reminded 
Emma  of  the  blind  man  in  the 
Testament.  "  He  seen  the  men 
first  as  trees,"  he  said,  "  even  when 
he  was  cured  with  grace,  and  not 
with  herbs  and  ointment  and  such  ; 
he  didn't  get  clear  vision  right 
away." 

Emma  felt  happier  than  she  had 
thought  possible.  She  ran  back 
into  the  yard  and  slipped  off  her 


Breaking  Ep  a  f  ome.         133 

shoe.  "  I'll  get  the  favour  of  home 
for  him,"  she  thought. 

But  while  the  handful  of  mould 
was  still  in  her  hand  she  put  her 
shoe  on  again.  "  I'd  liefer  shake 
off  the  dust  from  my  feet,"  she 
said ;  "  this  ain't  no  home  to  get 
the  favour  from." 

Martha  Long  stood  at  the  gate, 
"  You're  in  a  hurry  to  go,"  she  re 
marked. 

"To-morrow  begins  the  new 
month's  rent,"  said  Emma.  "  I  quit 
to-day  or  pay  to-morrow.  I'm  goin' 
where  there  ain't  no  rents  to  pay.  I 
can't  afford  rents  and  city  doctors 
together." 

Martha's  face  darkened.  "  I'm 
layin'  for  him  right  here,"  she  called 
as  the  funeral  carriage  moved  away. 


134  Qtoneyastnus. 

She  was  surprised  at  Emma's  good 
bye  mood ;  it  was  so  resolute  and 
cheerful.  "  He's  a  pretty  low  rep 
tile,"  was  the  last  thing  she  called 
to  Emma  as  the  conveyance  grew 
smaller  on  the  distant  road. 


X. 

QUARRY    RECKONS   WITHOUT    HIS 
HOSTESS. 

"  Strife's  a  poor  thing  to  come  home  to." 

IN  two  days'  time  Emma  was 
"  settled  in."  Hers  was  an  odd 
house  for  the  Stonepastures.  She 
paid  no  rent  for  it,  but  there  were 
curtains  at  the  windows  and  a  shoe- 
scraper  and  a  mat  at  the  door.  She 
had  not  been  up  an  hour  on  her  first 
morning  before  the  grass  around  the 
house  was  cut  down  with  a  bor 
rowed  sickle.  The  objectless,  listless 
denizens  of  the  district  watched  her 

135 


Stonepcistures. 


with  some  pleasure.  They  had  no 
individual  life,  merely  existing  as  a 
class  and  watching  the  individuality 
of  others  take  shape  in  thrift  and 
then  in  prosperity  with  a  dull  envy. 
One  man  said  she  "  hed  a  peck  of 
ambition  "  in  a  tone  that  meant  on 
the  Pastures,  in  "  Calamity  Row," 
that  any  endeavour  to  better  one's 
self  comes  to  confusion. 

At  first  the  big  boulders  de 
pressed  her  somewhat,  but  Jerry 
told  her  she  could  "  garden  on  them  " 
in  the  summer  time  ;  and,  indeed, 
flowers  could  grow  from  the  thin 
soil  that  edged  them.  For  two 
weeks  and  more  she  lived,  quietly 
amazed  to  find  herself  so  happy. 
From  day  to  day  she  watched  the 
Swede's  improvement.  As  the  pain 


Reckons.  137 


left  him  he  took  to  singing,  but  his 
voice  was  not  so  accurate  as  in  the 
old  days  when  he  heard  clearly. 
Many  of  the  songs  she  had  heard 
from  him  in  courting  time,  and  she 
was  infinitely  happy  to  know  that 
he  remembered  them  as  well  as  she 
did.  He  would  tell  the  meaning  of 
each  verse  after  he  had  sung  it,  as 
she  cooked  or  sewed  after  shaving 
all  day. 

For  she  shaved  again.  It  seemed 
very  odd  and  yet  very  natural  to 
her.  She  had  a  good  deal  of  busi 
ness  to  arrange  before  "  resuming 
trade."  Her  subscriptions  to  the 
Philadelphia  Ledger  and  the  Work- 
fellows'  Union  had  run  out  ;  in  fact, 
her  wedding  day  had  been  depend 
ent  on  their  expiration.  Emma 


Qtonejwstnres. 


had  a  great  idea  of  doing  things  the 
right  way,  and  news  has  been  the 
tradition  of  barber-shops  since  men's 
vanity  first  devised  a  shorn  chin. 
Emma  was  gratified  to  find  her 
standing  unimpaired  by  her  sojourn 
with  the  paupers.  Socially  she 
seemed  secure.  The  women  were 
prone  to  be  officiously  sympathet 
ic,  and  were  also  inclined  to  disbe 
lieve  the  tale  of  Quarry's  misdeed. 
"  There's  faults  on  both  sides,  may 
be,"  and  "  Who  can  see  the  whole 
show  through  a  slit  in  the  tent?" 
were  felt  to  be  convenient  phrases 
and  used  largely  as  such.  The 
phrase  "  rent-free  "  found  its  way 
from  the  neighbours'  lips  to  Em 
ma's  ears  rather  oftener  than  she 
cared  for  ;  it  spurred  her  on  to 


Beckons.  139 


grudge  herself  food  and  deny  her 
self  the  midday  beer  it  had  been 
her  wont  to  consume.  She  worked 
from  eight  in  the  morning  to  six  at 
night,  with  nothing  but  bread  and 
soup  at  her  slack  time  in  the  early 
afternoon. 

The  soup  was  much  like  Quarry's 
stories  —  made  up  out  of  almost 
nothing.  She  carried  it  to  work  in 
a  bottle  with  a  screwed-on  tin  top  ; 
this  she  put  into  the  little  boiler 
that  the  shaving  water  was  heated 
in,  "  and  so,"  she  would  say,  to 
amuse  a  new  customer,  "thet's  all 
the  cooking  I  hev  to  do  ;  I  boil 
my  bottle,  and  there  I  am  !  " 

She  had  rented  a  room  By  the 
Bridge  from  Miss  Bentley,  who  was 
much  surprised  when  Emma  paid 


140 


the  rent  ;  and  through  her  new  and 
improved  business  situation  in  the 
town  she  was  able  to  command  a 
"  high-class  custom." 

Since  the  evening  that  Quarry 
had  suggested  the  depot  as  a  place 
of  residence  Emma  had  been  free  of 
his  presence.  She  had  heard  of  him 
from  the  men,  however,  and  knew 
that  he  was  speaking  to  them  from 
the  Bridge  every  evening.  Revolt 
was  in  the  air  of  Soot  City  ;  there 
were  meetings,  quite  covertly,  con 
ducted  by  socialistic  workmen  in 
the  cause  of  workfellows'  profits. 
Monopoly  and  co-operative  profit 
were  talked  of  constantly,  and 
Grigg  sold  many  drinks.  It  is  a 
pity  that  the  workingmen  who  in 
vent  Utopias  should  attempt  to 


Eeckone.  141 


sanctify  them  with  an  alcoholic  im 
mersion.  It  antagonizes  even  the 
fair-minded.  The  preachers  took  to 
finding  comparisons,  more  or  less 
apposite,  between  Dives  and  Laz 
arus,  pronouncing  the  socialism  of 
him  who  has  not,  grabbing  from 
him  who  has,  to  be  merely  a  mod 
ern  variation  of  a  scriptural  scheme 
of  all  things  in  common.  As  some 
men  go  to  church  to  find  bibli 
cal  sanction  for  their  shortcomings  ; 
the  ringleaders  of  what  was  fast  be 
coming  an  agitation,  took  to  the 
sanctuaries,  whither  the  rest  of  the 
town  felt  it  safe  to  follow  them. 

Emma  regarded  Quarry's  effront 
ery  as  monumental,  but  she  never 
conceived  a  possibility  of  his  com 
ing  to  her  new  house  in  the  Stone- 


pastures.  She  felt  that,  as  she  had 
gone  down  in  the  world,  he  thought 
he  had  risen,  and  that  the  Stone- 
pastures  were  very  far  away  from 
him  now.  Her  eyes  would  scan  the 
road,  in  her  swift  evening  walks 
searching  for  his  slightly  crooked 
form.  The  thought  of  him  dis 
tressed  her,  as  horror  comes  upon  a 
child  in  the  dark,  and  after  nightfall 
she  remembered  him  as  such  a 
power  for  evil.  Returning  from  the 
town  she  always  wore  for  warmth 
her  leathern  apron  v/ith  a  shawl, 
her  jacket  was  too  good  to  be 
worn  out  in  the  dark.  This  scruple 
was  pure  conscience,  for  she  no 
longer  had  Jarlsen's  eye  for  which 
to  save  her  dresses. 

He   could  tell  the   difference  in 


Eeckono.  143 


footfalls  now,  and  distinguish  voices. 
Emma  longed  for  the  moment  when 
he  should  be  able  to  hear  her  speak 
his  name.  This  hoped-for  moment 
occupied  many  of  her  hours,  and 
she  thought  of  it  on  the  still,  cold 
night  when  she  saw  Quarry  walk 
ing  toward  the  Pastures  about  ten 
yards  ahead  of  her.  She  slackened 
her  pace  instantly,  and  he  was  soon 
lost  in  the  starless  dark. 

She  dreaded  him.  As  she  walked 
she  feared  she  might  stumble  on 
him  lying  drunk  in  her  path,  with 
his  mouth  full  of  the  hideous  words 
he  used  at  such  times  ;  or,  this  fear 
forgotten,  her  breath  would  come 
in  loud  pantings  at  the  thought  of 
his  hands  laid  on  her  from  behind. 
When  she  came  to  her  own  door 


144  Stonepastnreo. 

there  was  still  no  sight  of  him  ;  she 
looked  both  up  and  down  the  road 
to  make  sure.  She  could  not  see 
far,  for  most  of  the  houses  were 
dark ;  lights  are  too  expensive  for 
the  rent-free  Pastures.  Raising  the 
latch,  she  pushed  the  door  quietly 
open  and  looked  into  her  own 
home. 

Quarry  was  at  the  kitchen  table 
facing  her,  glaring  in  Jarlsen's  se 
renely  blind  countenance.  Sleep 
had  double-locked  the  Swede's 
seared  vision,  and  in  complete  un 
consciousness  he  breathed  freely, 
within  a  glance  of  Quarry's  eyes 
alive  with  malice. 

Emma  was  frightened,  so  much 
so  that  she  could  not  call.  It 
seemed  that  Quarry  must  have 


(filttarrg  Reckons.  145 

something  to  kill  with,  in  his 
coarse,  cramped  hands.  It  flashed 
across  her  that  if  she  received  him 
roughly  he  would  strike  or  stab, 
and  that  an  appearance  of  polite 
ness  would  surely  gain  her  time. 
Calmness  came  to  her  when  she 
had  determined  how  to  act. 

She  rattled  the  latch,  her  heart 
jumping  so  that  she  felt  as  if  it  had 
thrown  her  into  the  room.  Quarry 
let  fall  something  that  gave  out  the 
sound  of  thin  metal  as  it  struck  the 
brick  flooring  round  the  stove.  A 
flight  of  chills  froze  her  blood,  while 
her  cheeks  burned  with  a  steady, 
excited  glow. 

Quarry  could  not  avoid  her  eyes 
and  she  saw  that  were  he  to  have 
the  first  word  he  would  announce 


146 


himself  at  bay  and  make  trouble. 
She  almost  ran  to  him  with  her 
hand  stretched  out.  "  Quarry,"  said 
she  in  a  little  voice  that  she  strained 
to  make  audible,  "  Quarry,  you'll 
have  a  bite,  won't  you  ?  It's  a  cold 
bite,  but  a  ready  one." 

Emma  thought  later  that  it  was 
at  the  sound  of  Quarry's  name  in 
her  voice  that  Jarlsen  wakened. 
He  knew  at  once  that  Quarry  was 
there,  for  a  look  that  had  been  ab 
sent  from  his  face  since  they  moved 
from  By  the  Tracks  swept  its  strong 
patience  and  sweetness  away.  He 
stood  on  his  feet  and  reached  out 
for  the  Englishman.  The  bandages 
on  his  right  hand  seemed  too  tight, 
and  the  veins  in  it  bursting. 

"I'm    not   dead  yet!"    he    said 


Reckons.  147 


fiercely,  "  and  no  thanks  to 
you  !  " 

Emma  could  have  cried  for  joy. 
To  her  it  seemed  more  than  likely 
that  he  saw  again  ;  but  when  she 
noticed  how  easily  Quarry  had 
eluded  his  big  rival,  the  situation 
was  obscured. 

"  Did  I  hurt  him  ?  "  called  Jarlsen 
eagerly.  He  had  fallen  back  on  his 
chair,  but  was  sitting  on  its  edge, 
his  eyes  burning,  and  the  blood  red 
dening  the  fine  skin  on  his  fore 
head. 

She  did  not  answer,  having 
learned  not  to  waste  words  on  his 
deafness.  She  saw  Quarry  stoop 
down  and  lift  up  the  knife  he  had 
let  fall. 

Then  she  spoke,  and  very  gently. 


148 


"  You'd  better  stay  here,  Quarry," 
she  said  ;  "  you're  accustomed  to 
your  home  here,  and  there's  most 
sleep  in  an  old  nest." 

And  he  stayed.  Emma  turned 
him  in  with  old  Butte,  and  light 
ed  a  new  candle,  which  she  left  to 
illumine  the  rats  through  the  night. 
Then  she  locked  Jarlsen's  door  on 
the  outside,  and  tied  the  key  around 
her  neck.  She  reflected  with  pride 
that  her  Swede  had  only  been  sit 
ting  up  for  two  days,  and  yet  wanted 
to  fight  on  the  evening  of  the  sec 
ond.  In  her  joy  at  his  returning 
strength  she  lost  sight  of  danger. 


XI. 

THE    STRIKE. 
"  Having  ears  to  hear,  let  them  hear." 

THE  sleep  of  young  strength  puts 
a  wide  distance  between  yesterday's 
cares  and  to-day's.  The  dawn  that 
awoke  Emma  was  gray,  but  it  did 
not  suggest  the  blight  of  ashes  as 
had  last  night's  twilight.  She  was 
sure  of  the  return  of  Jarlsen's  facul 
ties,  and  she  also  knew  that  Quarry 
could  have  made  no  disturbance 
through  the  night.  She  was  in 
clined  to  think  that  he  meant  to 
frighten  them,  and  by  daylight  his 

149 


150  Stoncpasttires. 

acts  seemed  more  like  very  bad 
manners  than  like  an  attempt  at 
murder. 

In  the  morning,  before  setting 
out,  she  changed  the  bandage  on 
Jarlsen's  hand.  The  wide  burns 
were  "  guttering,"  seaming  up  in 
red  lines.  She  told  him  this,  and 
though  he  made  no  reply  she  felt 
sure,  with  unshakable,  feminine 
sureness,  that  he  had  heard.  She 
led  him  out  to  his  hammock  and 
placed  him  in  it.  Quarry  was  ha 
ranguing  Old  Butte,  and  the  sound 
of  his  voice  seemed  to  make  the 
Swede  nervous.  Emma  was  cer 
tain  that  he  had  heard  him. 

She  had  always  liked  the  Pastures 
as  a  place  to  walk  ;  the  air  was  less 
flat  than  in  the  town ;  and  it  was 


Strike. 


pleasant  to  set  one's  face  against 
poverty  and  one's  feet  toward  a 
place  where  people  were  rich 
enough  to  pay  rent.  Bentley's 
Place  overtopped  the  city  on  an 
artificial  and  costly  eminence.  The 
little  house  that  was  placed  like  a 
lodge  was  the  terminal  station  of 
the  narrow-gauge  railway.  She 
knew  herself  to  be  two  miles  and 
three  quarters  from  that,  and  a  mile 
or  more  from  the  plant. 

Usually  she  met  the  day  squad 
coming  out  from  the  town,  the 
men  standing  in  the  ore  cars,  the 
smoke  from  their  pipes  and  the 
straining,  overworked  little  engine 
blown  behind  them  toward  the 
town  —  like  a  message  sent  home, 
Emma  thought.  But  to-day  no 


152  Stcnepastures. 

cars  passed,  and  she,  being  a  child 
of  toil,  was  quick  to  know  that  this 
meant  a  strike.  She  hurried  on 
to  her  earnings,  remembering  that 
when  men  are  out  of  work  they 
have  all  day  in  which  to  spend 
their  savings.  Women  see  so  little 
in  strikes  but  higher  wages  until 
some  one  is  dead. 

When  she  reached  the  Bridge  it 
was  crowded  with  people.  Men 
who  had  not  worked  at  the  plant 
for  years  were  exhorting  their  fel 
lows  not  to  submit  to  tyranny. 
Many  large  words  were  being  mis 
used  with  great  pride  by  those  who 
never  had  a  chance  to  talk  except 
when  the  crowd  was  too  busy  to 
listen.  The  women  were  not  very 
carefully  dressed,  having  had  no 


®l)e  Strike.  153 

time  for  fastenings  or  strings. 
They,  together  with  the  children 
they  brought  with  them,  seemed  to 
regard  the  occasion  as  one  of  fes 
tivity. 

Nothing  was  denounced  very 
definitely.  One  stranger  was  said 
to  be  a  reporter,  whereupon  half  a 
dozen  people  beset  him,  anxious 
to  have  their  views  in  the  paper. 
Emma  could  learn  nothing  from 
any  of  them.  They  used  Quarry's 
and  Bowa's  names  frequently,  so 
that  she  forebore  mentioning  under 
whose  roof  the  Englishman  had 
passed  the  night. 

Her  shop  was  in  the  fourth 
house  from  the  Bridge ;  a  steep 
diagonal  path  ran  from  its  back 
door  to  the  Tracks.  The  men  were 


154  Stonepastnres. 

swarming  to  it  before  she  was  quite 
ready  to  have  them,  and  many  ar 
rived  by  the  rarely  used  footway. 
News  came  with  them,  and  she 
found  herself  believing  first  one  re 
port  and  then  another.  Bowa  came 
to  be  shaved ;  she  was  surprised  at 
his  thinking  of  a  thing  so  incidental 
to  a  holiday  toilet  as  a  shave,  but 
she  supposed  that  he  was  resolved 
to  die  tidy,  and  said  as  much. 

He  could  not  be  at  the  plant,  he 
explained,  and  felt  that  he  had  no 
need  to  be  there.  His  smile  was 
exceedingly  subtle,  but  his  hands 
worked  against  his  will  in  an  em 
barrassed  fashion. 

The  day  wore  on  until  about  four 
o'clock.  Her  business  had  been  im 
mense,  and  she  had  listened  to  the 


®i)e  Strike.  155 

many  accounts  and  descriptions  of 
the  plant  until  she  felt  she  knew  it 
perfectly.  In  the  centre  was  the 
powder  house,  where  explosives 
were  kept ;  on  the  city  flank  was 
the  nutt  and  bolt  factory,  and  very 
near,  but  south  of  it,  the  furnace. 
It  was  set  on  a  steep  "slide"  of 
rock ;  its  door,  through  which  the 
furnace  was  fed,  was  on  the  summit 
side ;  and  on  the  base  side,  lower 
on  the  slide  by  eight  feet  or  more, 
was  another  door  through  which 
the  "  cinder  "  flew  away  at  night  into 
the  darkness  like  a  burning  river. 
This  door  seems  complicated  on 
paper,  though  in  fact  its  construc 
tion  is  simple.  A  skewer  secures 
it  at  its  upper  edge — a  skewer  with 
a  large  loop  at  one  end.  Into  this 


156  Stonejwslttres. 

loop  the  hook  of  the  fire-tenders' 
strange  implement  is  thrust  when 
the  door  is  to  be  opened.  "The 
Devil's  Crook"  is  what  the  men 
have  named  the  long  oak  stick 
finished  at  one  end  with  an  iron 
hook.  It  does  look  like  a  thing 
wherewith  to  herd  black  sheep. 

Emma  was  weary  of  constant  ex 
clamation  and  argument.  It  was 
time  she  ate ;  so  she  closed  her 
door  and  "  boiled  her  bottle,"  allow 
ing  the  men  who  were  already  in 
the  shop  to  remain  there.  She  saw 
Bowa  get  up  from  his  chair  and 
leave  by  the  back  door,  silent  and 
hurried.  As  was  natural,  Emma 
turned  to  the  window  to  see  what 
had  caught  his  eye  in  the  street. 

Young  Bentley  had  driven  up  in 


Strike.  157 


his  buggy  ;  his  liveried  servant  sat 
beside  him,  and  the  horse  he  drove 
plunged  and  shook  with  nervous 
ness  at  being  surrounded  by  a 
crowd  of  loud-voiced  people.  Bent- 
ley  stood  up  in  the  little  buggy, 
having  given  the  reins  to  his  man. 
"  See  here,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
crowd,  "if  we  have  a  strike,  you'd 
better  remember  that  I  can  stand 
it,  and  you  can't.  I've  sent  police 
to  the  plant  to  protect  my  prop 
erty,  and  you  had  better  stand  by 
them  ;  for  the  plant  is  the  machine 
you  make  your  bread  with,  and  it's 
the  only  thing  you  can  work  at. 
I've  got  lots  of  irons  on  the  fire. 
Now  some  one  has  trifled  with 
this  road  bed,  in  the  cut  here,  By 
the  Bridge.  I  suppose  you  want 


158  0i0ne:pasttn:es. 

to  make  me  lose  my  charter.  I'm 
going  to  examine  the  damage  now, 
and  I  hope  you'll  come  with  me." 

He  jumped  to  the  ground  and 
began  to  descend  the  steps  leading 
to  the  road-bed  in  the  cut,  over 
which  the  Bridge  is.  No  one  fol 
lowed  him,  but  with  admirable 
nerve  he  neither  hesitated  nor 
quickened  his  pace. 

Emma  remembered  that  Jarlsen 
had  liked  him,  and  that  he  had 
called  to  ask  for  him  once  By  the 
Tracks  and  twice  on  the  Pastures. 
No  Bentley  had  visited  the  Pas 
tures  before,  and  Emma  felt  the 
distinction  keenly.  She  opened  the 
door  and  went  out,  merely  observ 
ing  to  the  bystanders  that  .they 
"hed  no  spring." 


®l)c  Strike.  159 

Before  she  got  to  the  stair's  head 
about  six  men  had  followed  her, 
looking  deeply  ashamed  of  each 
other,  but  at  present  firm  in  their 
duty.  Emma  let  them  pass  her, 
and  slipped  into  the  advancing 
crowd. 

Bowa  and  three  companions  were 
standing  on  the  tracks  by  two  over 
turned  ore  cars.  They  seemed  more 
sheepish  than  defiant,  and  Emma 
noticed  with  pride  how  neat  Bowa 
looked  as  he  tried  not  to  flinch 
under  Bentley's  contemptuous  gaze. 
The  rails  were  torn  up  for  about 
twenty  yards,  and  in  the  silence 
that  preceded  Bentley's  first  words 
Emma  realized  that  this  meant 
prison. 

"Did  you  do  that?"  he  said  at 


160 


length.  Then  turning  to  the  men 
at  his  back,  he  said  very  pleasantly, 
"  I  think  we  can  put  this  right 
with  "  —  his  voice  grew  suddenly 
louder  —  "  two  more  to  help  us." 

Two  Soot  City  police  appeared, 
and  very  quietly  secured  Bowa  and 
his  friends.  They  were  too  sur 
prised  to  make  any  resistance,  and 
went  silent  and  sullen  at  Bentley's 
curt  bidding.  Some  one  cried, 
"  Shame  !  "  at  the  plant  owner. 
Martha  Long  answered  "  Non 
sense!"  very  loud.  But  her  tears 
fell  for  Bowa,  and  she  pleaded  for 
him  in  words. 

"  Mr.  Bentley,"  she  said,  "  he  was 
put  up  to  that.  He's  young  for  the 
shadder  of  a  prison  to  fall  on  him. 
He's  as  mild  as  new  milk,  and  he's 


Strike.  161 


had  his  taste,  and  he  won't  want  no 
more." 

"  Martha,"  Bentley  answered,  "  I 
think  making  an  example  of  a 
workman  is  making  a  martyr  of 
him  and  an  enemy  of  his  labour 
organization.  I  don't  want  any 
strikes,  so  I'll  probably  let  him  off; 
but  I  wouldn't  promise  any  one." 

Martha  went  away  well  com 
forted,  and  Emma,  when  the  dark 
ness  had  fallen,  set  out  for  home. 
She  considered  the  strike  was  over, 
and  laughed  as  she  made  herself 
pictures  of  Quarry's  discomfiture  ; 
his  plans  would  be  henceforth  un 
heeded,  and,  as  he  had  not  suc 
ceeded,  the  men  would  not  fear 
him,  and  not  fearing  meant,  under 
such  conditions,  shunning.  She 


162  Btonejwsturcs. 

had  had  a  diverting  day ;  the  silver 
jingled  in  her  pocket,  and  her  wish 
was  that  Jarlsen  might  have  ears 
to  hear  all  about  it. 

The  cottage  was  dark,  but  before 
she  came  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
it,  while  it  yet  stood  out  black  and 
square  against  the  dark  east,  she 
heard  Jarlsen  calling,  "  Emma,  hur 
ry,  girl ! — Emma,  girl,  hurry  ! " 

She  ran  to  him,  stumbling  and 
in  dread,  and  groped  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  room  with  tender  hands 
that  feared — she  longed  to  know 
just  what. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  he  said ;  "  but 
listen.  Speak  to  me ;  I  can  hear. 
I've  heard  ever  since  we  moved. 
I've  wanted  to  say  so,  but  I  wanted 
to  go  on  hearing  your  father  talk 


Strike.  163 


to  Quarry.  I've  heard  it  all.  I'm 
done  with  secrets  ;  I'm  pretty  near 
done  with  theirs.  Speak  to  me, 
Emma  ;  I  can  prove  it." 

"  I'm  so  bursting-out  happy,  I 
can't  talk  much,"  said  she. 

Her  speech  followed  her  in  his 
voice.  "'  I'm  so  bursting-out  happy, 
I  can't  talk  much.'  But  I  can  hear  ! 
Emma,  Quarry  and  your  poppa 
have  been  setting  it  up  since  we 
came  here,  and  I  was  afraid  to  say 
I  heard,  for  fear  two  couldn't  keep 
a  secret.  Emma,  we  want  the 
plant's  pension,  and  we're  going  to 
get  it! 

"  You're  going  now,"  he  said,  "  to 
run  out  to  the  plant  —  to  run  your 
best  ;  when  you  get  there,  go  to  the 
furnace.  If  you  keep  right  on  By 


164 


the  Tracks,  nobody  '11  mind  you. 
Quarry's  bought  the  furnace-mind 
ers,  and  they're  going  to  leave  for 
the  station  to  report  a  disturbance 
in  the  factory.  The  Devil's  Crook 
is  in  the  little  house  by  the  fur 
nace  ;  it  is  by  the  door.  You  take 
it  as  you  pass  —  no  one'll  be  there  — 
and  when  you  see  a  light  in  the 
factory  you  open  the  centre  door 
and  make  a  flare,  for  the  police 
can't  see  in  the  dark.  You'll  catch 
'em  ;  O  Emma,  hurry  !  I've  got  a 
good  chance  to  fix  Quarry,  and  he 
didn't  warn  me  of  that  blast,  or  I 
wouldn't  be  here  now.  He  put  his 
flag  behind  his  back  when  he  saw 
me  come,  and  I  walked  right  on. 
Hurry,  Emma  girl  !  Don't  burn 
yourself  !  " 


Strike.  165 


Emma  could  feel  that  he  wanted 
to  go  himself.  She  caught  up  her 
shawl.  "Is  it  the  powder  house  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  said  loud 
ly,  "  get  started  !  Of  course  it  is  !  " 

She  ran  out  into  the  wide  dark 
ness.  She  was  racing  death,  and 
she  knew  it. 


XII. 

THE    EYE    OF    GOD. 

"  And  the  eye  of  God  shall  pierce  the 
lengthy  darkness." 

EMMA'S  first  thought  was  of  the 
time  that  it  would  take  her  to  get 
to  the  plant.  Young  Bentley  had 
once  run  a  mile  under  five  min 
utes,  and  his  feat  had  been  in  the 
newspapers ;  but  she  could  not,  of 
course,  count  on  herself  for  like 
speed.  She  felt  that  the  cinder 
flare  would  light  up  her  life's  crisis. 
Jarlsen's  excited  voice  echoed  in 
her  mind,  and  the  thought  that 

166 


of  <B>o5.  167 


Quarry  might  have  saved  him  with 
the  warning  flag,  instead  of  letting 
him  come  unchecked  on  live  pow 
der,  urged  her  on  the  faster.  She 
saw  that  to-day's  attempt  at  the 
Tracks  was  a  forced  incident,  in 
tended  to  look  like  the  strike's 
crisis.  She  remembered  her  own 
part  in  it  with  laughter. 

She  was  choked  with  anxiety. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  if  the  pow 
der  house  were  fired  there  would 
be  no  food  anywhere  in  Soot  City. 
Who  would  be  killed  and  how 
much  would  be  damaged  was  an 
unanswerable  question  that  weak 
ened  her  with  painful  suspense. 
She  barely  noticed  the  hissing  rush 
of  her  breath  or  felt  the  pain  in  her 
side.  Her  feet  grew  heavy,  and  the 


168  Stonejwstnres. 

noise  of  their  fall  on  the  road-bed 
sounded  to  her  as  if  it  was  far  off 
in  the  town.  Her  neck  was  craned 
in  the  direction  of  the  plant,  and 
she  wanted  to  throw  herself  along 
the  earth.  When  the  lights  at  the 
sidings  and  at  the  station  grew 
nearer  her  dimmed  eyes  could  bare 
ly  distinguish  them.  Some  warm 
thing,  with  a  new  taste,  crept  over 
her  lips.  She  put  up  her  hand  to 
it,  and  saw  in  the  light  at  the  first 
siding  that  it  was  blood. 

Her  body  rocked  with  the  push 
of  her  heart-beats,  and  "yet,"  she 
thought,  "  I  may  be  late." 

At  last  she  passed  the  station. 
Through  its  Windless  windows  she 
could  see  Benz,  the  furnace-tender, 
talking  fast  to  the  police.  For  a 


moment  she  thought  of  going  in 
and  telling  her  story,  but  she  feared 
a  loss  of  time,  and  started  furiously 
up  the  grade  to  the  tool-house.  She 
found  the  door  standing  open  and 
entered  boldly,  snatching  the  crook 
and  striking  at  a  man  who  raised 
himself  from  the  floor.  He  lay 
down  again  at  once,  saying,  "All 
right,  only  don't  tell  me  where  you 
put  it." 

"  I'm  in  time,"  she  thought. 

There  was  a  little  patch  of  light 
before  the  threshold.  Looking  up, 
she  saw  four  policemen  crossing  by 
the  powder  house  to  the  factory. 
Then  the  scheme  came  entire  into 
her  puzzled  brain.  They  were 
called  out  on  search  and  it  was 
their  lights  in  the  factory  that  were 


170 


to  be  taken  as  the  signal  for  Quar 
ry's  men  to  fire  the  mine.  The 
furnace-tenders  had  gone  as  guides, 
and  the  unshifted  cinder  could  not 
expose  offenders. 

11  He's  a  cute  viper  !  "  Emma  was 
talking  to  herself  to  keep  her  nerve  ; 
she  was  spent  and  breathless. 

The  heat  by  the  furnace  was  ter 
rible  ;  it  shone  on  the  iron  trough 
in  an  outlined  square  of  yellow, 
where  the  light  streamed  through 
the  door  cracks.  She  fitted  the 
crook's  hook  to  the  loop  of  the 
skewer  and  paused,  waiting.  Her 
thoughts  were  busy  with  the  way 
in  which  they  might  fire  the  pow 
der  stores.  Heat  and  cold  hurried 
through  her  alternately  ;  her  hands 
and  brow  were  wet.  There  were, 


®l)e  (Kg*  of  (Sob.  171 

of  course,  no  men  on  duty  at  the 
plant  save  forty  of  the  factory  force, 
Quarry  among  them.  Emma  saw 
that  this  was  part  of  the  blind. 

The  electric  lights  were  out ; 
they  had  not  been  turned  on  since 
early  the  last  evening,  but  presently 
one  shone  from  the  ground  floor  of 
the  factory.  Emma  pulled  back  her 
crook  exultingly,  but  the  skewer 
would  not  give.  She  jerked,  but  it 
was  firm.  Gathering  her  strength, 
she  braced  her  feet  and  threw  her 
self  back.  She  saw  a  fiery  line  pass 
above  her  head,  and  heard  the  red- 
hot  skewer  tinkle  against  a  stone 
behind  her.  She  rushed  to  the  front 
of  the  furnace  to  get  rid  of  the  heat, 
and  stood  on  the  crest  of  the  in 
cline. 


Stonejmsinrea. 


As  the  cinder  flew  in  a  glowing 
mass  down  the  trough  to  the  cinder 
hill,  she  saw  the  spires  at  the  city 
and  the  Bridge.  Then  she  looked 
directly  before  her. 

As  the  night  lifted  from  the 
plant  yard  she  saw  that  some  one 
was  running  ;  the  figure  took  on  it 
the  red  of  the  brightening  furnace 
waste,  and  the  flame  of  the  torch 
the  runner  carried  grew  white  in 
the  rosy  glare.  The  light  spread 
higher,  and  Emma  saw  the  tops  of 
the  elm  trees  that  grew  on  the 
other  side  of  the  factory.  The  cin 
der  rattled  in  the  trough  with  a 
grating  loudness. 

"  He  hes  a  train  of  oiled  rope 
laid,"  said  she. 

The  plant-hand  was  Quarry,  and 


of  <S>o&.  173 


still  he  ran  toward  the  powder 
house  in  the  vivid  light.  The  men, 
most  of  them  police,  were  watching 
him.  He  knelt  with  his  light  in 
his  hand,  and  fell  forward,  the  torch 
under  him.  Then  Emma  heard  a 
pistol  shot  that  sounded  like  snap 
ping  fingers  in  the  din  of  the  cinder 
waste. 

Bentley's  voice  was  hardly  heard 
in  the  various  noise  that  followed 
the  shot.  "  Lock  up  God's  eye  !  " 
he  called  ;  "  it's  done  big  work,  but 
don't  waste  fuel." 

And  a  woman's  voice,  peevish 
from  fatigue,  called  from  the  height  : 
"  I  can't  —  I'm  broken,  I'm  so  tired  !" 

But  Quarry  did  not  stir  ;  his 
torch  was  out.  And  in  the  house 
on  the  Pastures  Jarlsen's  eyes 


174  Stonejwsturcs. 

strained  themselves  to  pierce  their 
own  darkness,  although  the  cloudy 
sky  was  like  a  red  sea,  and  the  plant 
stood  out  plainly  with  orange  elm 
trees  and  bright  roofs. 


EPILOGUE. 

WE  were  disputing  in  the  train 
as  to  whether  it  was  five  or  six 
years  since  Quarry's  death.  I  said 
six,  and  was  told  that  I  was  always 
wrong.  My  adversary  evidently 
considered  this  second-rate  rejoin 
der  a  retort.  Presently  he  said, 
"  You  may  be  right,  for  I  think 
Jarlsen's  boy  is  five." 

Jerry  Black  met  us  at  the  sta 
tion  ;  he  wore  a  bailiffs  uniform 
of  corduroy.  The  Bentleys  were 
very  English  now,  but  kinder  than 
ever.  We  got  into  an  omnibus, 


175 


176  Sionepasttireo. 

and  asked  Jerry  to  come  too.  He 
had  to  be  urged,  for  he  is  still 
modest. 

"  How  are  the  Stonepastures  ?  " 
said  I,  anxious  to  start  the  con 
versation. 

"  Lean  livin'  yet,"  he  answered, 
sighing  ;  "  but  we've  got  a  home  for 
the  aged  indigent,  and  a  hospital." 

He  began  to  talk  in  earnest,  and, 
among  other  things,  told  us  that 
Emma  paid  the  doctor  the  week 
after  Quarry  died.  He  said  she 
felt  as  if  she  had  killed  Quarry,  but 
that  her  marriage  had  put  it  out 
of  her  head.  "The  Jarlsens  are 
getting  on  fine,"  he  remarked  con 
fidentially,  "  more  than  happy  in 
their  fortunes.  August  has  sold 
his  idea  for  freight  couplers  to  the 


177 


plant,  and  he's  living  in  the  back 
of  the  new  schoolhouse,  and  he 
goes  away  singing  and  gets  paid 
for  it.  He  bought  a  piano  with 
his  savings." 

"  Emma's  too  fine  to  shave  me, 
!  suppose,"  said  I. 

"  Don't  name  it  to  her,  please," 
implored  Jerry. 

We  arrived  at  the  church — it  was 
Bentley's  wedding  we  were  attend 
ing — and  on  either  side  of  the  walk 
through  the  yard  the  men  and 
women  of  the  plant  waited  for  the 
bride.  There  was  not  a  foot  of 
space  left  in  the  church.  Bowa 
stood  next  me,  and  with  him  was 
Martha  Long.  "  It's  a  pleasanter 
time  than  the  last,"  she  said  as  I 
greeted  her.  We  had  been  staying 


178 


at  the  plant  in  the  strike  when 
Quarry  had  gone  under,  and  I  was 
pleased  that  she  remembered  it. 
Black  was  everywhere.  At  last  he 
pushed  us  all  back  to  clear  the  path 
for  the  bride.  Bentley  was  in  the 
church  at  the  chancel. 

Then  there  broke  on  our  eager 
ears  the  finest  tenor  I  had  ever 
heard.  They  say  he  sang  a  Swe 
dish  wedding  song.  I  don't  care 
what  it  was  —  I  almost  cried  when 
he  stopped.  His  voice  rose  high 
and  strong,  and  seemed  to  spread 
like  perfume  ;  he  sang  gladly. 

"Who  is  that?"  I  asked. 

Every  one  within  hearing  an 
swered  proudly,  "  J  arisen." 

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true  on  every  page  to  the  author's  purpose." — New  York  Times. 

^pHE  WISH.  A  Novel.  By  HERMANN  SUDERMANN. 
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I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

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World. 

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New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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of  love  between  the  young  chief  and  heroine,  is  delineated  with  a  sweet 
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Traveller. 


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Beacon. 

"A  work  of  power  which  is  another  stone  added  to  the  foundation  of 
enduring  fame  to  which  Mr.  Caine  is  yearly  adding." — Public  Opinion. 

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down  to  degradation  and  shame.  Never  in  the  whole  range  of  literature 
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more  powerfully,  more  realistically  delineated  than  Mr.  Caine  pictures  it." 
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H^HE  DEEMSTER.     A  Romance  of  the  hie  of  Man. 
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chapters  have  an  intensely  dramatic  grasp,  and  hold  the  fascinated  reader 
with  a  force  rarely  excited  nowadays  in  literature." — The  Critic. 

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Francisco  Chronicle. 

n^HE  BONDMAN.     New  edition.    I2mo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  welcome  given  to  this  story  has  cheered  and  touched  me,  but 
I  am  conscious  that,  to  win  a  reception  so  warm,  such  a  book  must  have 
had  readers  who  brought  to  it  as  much  as  they  took  away.  ...  I  have 
called  my  story  a  saga,  merely  because  it  follows  the  epic  method,  and  I 
must  not  claim  for  it  at  any  point  the  weighty  responsibility  of  history,  or 
serious  obligations  to  the  world  of  fact.  But  it  matters  not  to  me  what 
Icelanders  may  call  '  The  Bondman,"  if  they  will  honor  me  by  reading  it  in 
the  open-hearted  spirit  and  with  the  free  mind  with  which  they  are  content 
to  read  of  Grettir  and  of  his  fights  with  the  Troll." — From  the  Author' s 
Preface. 

/^APT'N  DA  VY'S  HONE  YMOON.     A  Manx  Yarn. 
*-p     i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  new  departure  by  this  author.  Unlike  his  previous  works,  this  little 
tale  is  almost  wholly  humorous,  with,  however,  a  current  of  pathos  under 
neath.  It  is  not  always  that  an  author  can  succeed  equally  well  in  tragedy 
and  in  comedy,  but  it  looks  as  though  Mr.  Hall  Caine  would  be  one  of  the 
exceptions." — London  Literary  U'orld. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  meet  the  author  of  The  Deemster  '  in  a  brightly  hu 
morous  little  story  like  this.  ...  It  shows  the  same  observation  of  Manx 
character,  and  much  of  the  same  artistic  skill." — Philadelphia  Times. 

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to  his  friend  and   former  fellow-student,  Herbert   Swan- 
borough,  of  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during  the  years  1881- 
1884.     Illustrated.     I2mo.     Buckram,  $1.50. 
This  original  and  dramatic  story  presents  fresh  types,  extraor 
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ences  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  the  unflagging  interest  and  un 
expected  phases  of  the  romance  are  no  less  in  evidence  than  the 
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In  the  "Stark  Munro  Letters"  the  author  has  achieved  another 
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readers. 

"Any  one  who  has  read  any  of  the  fascinating  stories  in  which  the 
shrewd  detective,  Sherlock  Holmes,  figures  as  the  very  personification  of 
detective  logic  applied  to  the  detection  of  crime,  knows  that  Conan  Doyle 
is  a  story-teller  of  the  very  first  order  of  merit.  Like  his  own  character, 
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could  write  two  such  books  as  ' The  White  Company '  and  'The  Refugees' 
has  a  future  which  the  shades  of  Scott  and  Dickens  might  envy." — Albany 
Times-Union, 

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country  practitioner's  office,  is  the  central  point  of  these  dramatic 
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to  him  in  a  field  of  which  he  is  the  master. 

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Can  approach  them." — Hartford  Times. 

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and  his  treatment  of  this  masterpiece  of  French  literature  invests  it  with  a 
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T)ICCIOLA.     By  X.  B.  SAINTINE.    With  130  Illustrations 

by  J.  F.  GUELDRY.  8vo.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 
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A^A  TTIC  PHILOSOPHER    Iff  PARIS;  or,   A 
Peep  at  the  World  from  a  Garret.     Being  the   Journal 
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ous  Illustrations.     8vo.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 
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— Boston  Times. 

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handsome  one." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

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ornamented  on  the  cover,  it  is  an  exemplary  book,  fit  to  be  '  a  treasure  for 
aye.'  " — New  York  Times. 

^HE  STORY  OF  COLETTE.  A  new  large-paper 
edition.  With  36  Illustrations.  8vo.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 

"  One  of  the  handsomest  of  the  books  of  fiction  for  the  holiday  season." 
—Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  One  of  the  gems  of  the  season.  .  .  .  It  is  the  story  of  the  life  of  young 
womanhood  in  France,  dramatical'y  told,  with  the  )i?.ht  and  shade  and 
coloring  of  the  genuine  artist,  and  is  utterly  free  from  that  which  mars  too 
many  French  novels.  In  its  literary  finish  it  is  well  nigh  perfect,  indicating 
the  hand  of  the  master." — Boston  Traveller. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


A 


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FRIEND  OF  THE  QUEEN.  (Marie  Antoinette- 
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phia  Bulletin. 

"  There  are  some  characters  in  history  of  whom  we  never  seem  togrow 
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nette,  and  of  that  life  which  is  at  once  so  eventful  and  so  tragic.  ...  In 
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known." — Philadelphia  Piess. 

"  A  historical  volume  that  will  be  eagerly  read." — New  York  Observer. 

"  One  of  those  captivating  recitals  of  the  romance  of  truth  which  are 
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"  It  tells  with  new  and  authentic  details  the  romantic  story  of  Count 
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"If  the  book  had  no  more  recommendation  than  the  mere  fact  that 
Marie  Antoinette  and  Count  Fersen  are  rescued  at  last  from  the  voluminous 
and  contradictory  representations  with  which  the  literature  of  that  period 
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'THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  EMPRESS.     Catharine  II 
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— New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

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'ANY  INVENTIONS.  By  RUDYARD  KIPLING. 
Containing  fourteen  stories,  several  of  which  are  now 
published  for  the  first  time,  and  two  poems.  I2mo, 
427  pages.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  reader  turns  from  its  pages  with  the  conviction  that  the  authot 
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— the  ability  to  select  out  of  countless  details  the  few  vital  ones  which  create 
the  finished  picture.  He  knows  how,  with  a  phrase  or  a  word,  to  make 
you  see  his  characters  as  he  sees  them,  to  make  you  feel  the  full  meaning 
of  a  dramatic  situation." — New  York  '1  ribiine. 

"'Many  Inventions'  will  confirm  Mr.  Kipling's  reputation.  .  .  .  We 
would  cite  with  pleasure  sentences  from  almost  every  page,  and  extract 
incidents  from  almost  every  story.  But  to  what  end  ?  Here  is  the  com 
pletes!  book  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  yet  given  us  in  workmanship,  the 
weightiest  and  most  humane  in  breadth  of  view." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  evidently  not  diminishing. 
We  advise  everybody  to  buy  '  Many  Inventions,"  and  to  profit  by  some  of 
the  best  entertainment  that  modern  fiction  has  to  offer. "-~New  York  Sun. 

"'Many  Inventions'  will  be  welcomed  wherever  the  English  language 
is  spoken.  .  .  .  Every  one  of  the  stories  bears  the  imprint  of  a  master  who 
conjures  up  incident  as  if  by  magic,  and  who  portrays  character,  scenery, 
and  feeling  with  an  ease  which  is  only  exceeded  by  the  boldness  of  force." 
— Boston  Globe. 

"The  book  will  get  and  hold  the  closest  attention  of  the  reader." 
— A  merican  Bookseller. 

"Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling's  place  in  the  world  of  letters  is  unique.  He 
sits  quite  ali>of  and  alone,  the  incomparable  and  inimitable  master  of  the 
exquisitely  fine  art  of  short-story  writing.  Mr.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  has 
perhaps  written  several  tales  which  match  the  run  of  Mr.  Kipling's  work, 
but  the  best  of  Mr.  Kipling's  tales  are  matchless,  and  his  latest  collection, 
'Many  Inventions,'  contains  several  such." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"Of  late  essays  in  fiction  the  work  of  Kipling  can  be  compared  to 
only  three — Blackmore's  '  Lorna  Doone,'  Stevenson's  marvelous  sketch 
of  Villon  in  the  'New  Arabian  Nights,'  and  Thomas  Hardy's  '  Tess  of  the 
D'Urbervilles.'  ...  It  is  probably  owing  to  this  extreme  care  that  '  Many 
Inventions  '  is  undoubtedly  Mr.  Kipling's  best  book." — Chicago  Post. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  style  is  too  well  known  to  American  readers  to  require 
introduction,  but  it  can  scarcely  be  amiss  to  say  there  is  not  a  story  in  this 
collection  that  does  not  more  than  repay  a  perusal  of  them  all." — Baltimore 
A  merican. 

"  As  a  writer  of  short  stories  Rudyard  Kipling  is  a  genius.  He  has  had 
imitators,  but  they  have  not  been  successful  in  dimming  the  luster  of  his 
achievements  by  contrast.  .  .  .  '  Many  Inventions'  is  the  title.  And  they 
are  inventions— entirely  original  in  incident,  ingenious  in  plot,  and  startling 
by  their  boldness  and  force." — Rochester  Herald. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


PS 

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